DUFFELS 


BY 

EDWABD   EGGLESTOX 

AUTHOR   OF 
THE    FAITH   DOCTOR,   THE   HOOSIER   SCHOOLMASTER,   ROXY,    ETC. 


NEW   YORK 
D.   APPLETON  AND   COMPANY 

1893 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  EDWARD  EGGLESTON. 


All  rights  reserved. 


ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED 
AT  THE  APPLETON  PRESS,  U.  S.  A. 


PREFACE. 


THE  once  famous  Mrs.  Anne  Grant — known  in 
literature  as  Mrs.  Grant  of  Laggan — spent  part  of 
her  childhood  in  our  New  York  Albany,  then  a  town 
almost  wholly  given  to  traffic  with  the  aborigines. 
To  her  we  owe  a  description  of  the  setting  out  of 
the  young  American-Dutch  trader  to  ascend  the  Mo 
hawk  in  a  canoe,  by  laborious  paddling  and  toilsome 
carrying  round  rifts  and  falls,  in  order  to  penetrate 
to  the  dangerous  region  of  the  tribes  beyond  the  Six 
Nations.  The  outfit  of  this  young  "bushloper,"  as 
such  a  man  was  called  in  the  still  earlier  Dutch 
period,  consisted  mainly  of  a  sort  of  cloth  suited  to 
Indian  wants.  But  there  were  added  minor  articles 
of  use  and  fancy  to  please  the  youth  or  captivate 
the  imagination  of  the  women  in  the  tribes.  Combs, 
pocket  mirrors,  hatchets,  knives,  jew's-harps,  pig 
ments  for  painting  the  face  blue,  yellow,  and  ver 
milion,  and  other  such  things,  were  stored  away  in 
the  canoe,  to  be  spread  out  as  temptations  before 

M656058 


iv  PREPACK. 

tlie  eyes  of  some  group  of  savages  rich  in  a  win 
ter's  catch  of  furs.  The  cloths  sold  by  the  traders 
were  called  duffels,  probably  from  the  place  of  their 
origin,  the  town  of  Duffel,  in  the  Low  Countries.  By 
degrees  the  word  was,  I  suppose,  transferred  to  the 
whole  stock,  and  a  trader's  duffels  included  all  the 
miscellany  he  carried  with  him.  The  romantic  young 
bushloper,  eager  to  accumulate  money  enough  to 
marry  the  maiden  he  had  selected,  disappeared  long 
ago  from  the  water  courses  of  northern  New  York. 
In  his  place  an  equally  interesting  figure — the  Adi 
rondack  guide — navigates  single-handed  the  rivers 
and  lakes  of  the  "  North  Woods."  By  one  of  those 
curious  cases  of  transference  that  are  often  found  in 
etymology,  the  guide  still  carries  duffels,  like  his 
predecessor  ;  but  not  for  Indian  trading.  The  word 
with  him  covers  also  an  indefinite  collection  of  ob 
jects  of  manifold  use — camp  utensils,  guns,  fishing 
tackle,  and  whatnots.  The  basket  that  sits  in  his 
light  boat  to  hold  his  smaller  articles  is  called  a  duffel 
basket,  as  was  the  basket  of  sundries  in  the  trader's 
canoe,  I  fancy.  If  his  camp  grows  into  a  house 
frequented  by  sportsmen,  there  will  be  a  duffel  room 
to  contain  all  manner  of  unclassified  things. 

Like  the  trader  of  old  New  York,  I  here  open 
my  kit  of  duffels.  I  have  selected  from  the  shorter 
tales  written  by  me  since  I  began  to  deal  in  the 
fancy  wares  of  a  writer  of  fiction  only  such  as  seem 


PREFACE.  v 

to  have  elements  of  permanent  interest.  I  find  their 
range  to  be  wide.  They  cover  many  phases  of  human 
nature ;  they  describe  life  in  both  the  eighteenth  and 
the  nineteenth  centuries ;  they  are  of  the  East  and  of 
the  West,  of  the  North,  the  Middle,  and  the  South. 
Group  or  classify  them  I  can  not ;  they  are  too  vari 
ous.  Some  were  written  long  ago,  in  my  younger 
manner,  and  in  the  tone  prevailing  among  the  story- 
writers  of  those  days.  Opinions  and  sentiments  are 
inextricably  interwoven  with  some  of  these  earlier 
stories  that  do  not  seem  to  be  mine  to-day.  But  a 
man  in  his  fifties  ought  to  know  how  to  be  tolerant 
of  the  enthusiasms  and  beliefs  of  a  younger  man.  I 
suspect  that  the  sentiment  I  find  somewhat  foreign 
to  me  in  the  season  of  cooler  pulses,  and  the  situa 
tions  and  motives  that  seem  rather  naive  now,  had 
something  to  do  with  the  acceptability  of  the  stories. 
The  popularity  of  these  early  tales  in  their  day  en 
couraged  me  to  go  on,  and  a  little  later  to  set  up  in 
more  permanent  and  wholesale  business  as  a  novelist. 
To  certain  of  these  stories  of  my  apprenticeship  I 
have  appended  dates  to  explain  allusions  in  the  text. 
Other  stories  there  are  here,  that  are  of  recent  pro 
duction,  and  by  these  I  am  willing  to  be  judged. 
The  variety  in  subject,  manner,  date,  location,  makes 
proper  to  them  the  title  I  have  chosen — a  good  word 
with  a  savor  of  human  history  and  an  odor  of  the 
New  World  about  it;  a  word  yet  in  living  use  in 


vi  PREFACE. 

this  region  of  lakes  and  mountains.     I  am  not  with 
out  hope  that  some  of  my  duffels  will  please. 

If  formal  dedications  were  not  a  little  old-fash 
ioned,  I  should  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  writing 
on  one  of  these  pages  the  name  of  my  friend  Mr. 
Eichard  Watson  Gilder.  I  have  read  with  delight 
and  sincere  admiration  the  poems  that  have  given 
him  fame,  but  they  need  no  praise  of  mine.  The 
occasion  of  my  mentioning  his  name  here  is  more 
personal — it  was  by  his  solicitation  that  I  was  se 
duced,  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  into  writ 
ing  my  earliest  love  story.  I  may  say,  perhaps  with 
out  pushing  the  figure  too  far,  that  on  his  sugges 
tion  I  first  embarked  in  the  light  canoe  of  a  dealer 

in  duffels. 

E.  E. 
JOSHUA'S  ROCK,  LAKE  GEORGE,  1893. 


CONTENTS. 


SISTER  TABEA 

THE  REDEMPTIONER 27 

A  BASEMENT  STORY 64 

THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT 91 

THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE H4 

HULDAH,  THE  HELP 1^8 

THE  NEW  CASHIER 149 

PRISCILLA 157 

TALKING  FOR  LIFE I85 

PERIWINKLE 19* 

THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB 228 


DUFFELS. 


SISTER  TABEA. 

Two  weather-beaten  stone  buildings  at  Ephrata, 
in  Pennsylvania,  remain  as  monuments  on  this  side 
of  the  water  of  the  great  pietistic  movement  in 
Germany  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury.  One  of  these  was  called  Bethany,  the  other 
Sharon.  A  hundred  and  thirty  or  forty  years 
ago  there  were  other  buildings  with  these,  and  the 
softening  hand  of  time  had  not  yet  touched  any  of 
them.  The  doorways  were  then,  as  now,  on  the 
ground  level,  the  passages  were  just  as  narrow  and 
dusky,  the  cells  had  the  same  little  square  windows  to 
let  in  the  day.  But  the  stones  in  that  day  had  a  hue 
that  reminded  one  of  the  quarry,  the  mortar  between 
them  was  fresh,  the  shingles  in  the  roof  had  gathered 
no  -moss  and  very  little  weather  stain ;  the  primeval 
forests  were  yet  within  the  horizon,  and  there  was 
everywhere  an  air  of  newness,  of  advancement,  and 
of  prosperity  about  the  Dimkard  Convent.  One  sees 


2  DUFFELS. 

now  neither  monks  nor  nuns  in  these  narrow  hall 
ways  ;  monks  and  nuns  are  nowhere  about  Ephrata, 
except  in  the  graveyard  where  all  the  brethren  of 
Bethany,  and  all  the  sisters  who  once  peopled  Sharon, 
sleep  together  in  the  mold.  But  in  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century  their  bare  feet  shuffled  upon  the 
stairs  as,  clad  in  white  hooded  cloaks  descending  to 
the  very  ground,  they  glided  in  and  out  of  the  low 
doors,  or  assembled  in  the  little  chapel  called  "  Zion  " 
to  attend  service  under  the  lead  of  their  founder, 
Conrad  Beissels.  In  the  convent,  where  he  reigned 
supreme,  Beissels  was  known  as  Brother  Friedsam ; 
later  he  was  reverently  called  Father  Friedsam  Gott- 
recht,  a  name  that,  like  all  their  convent  names,  had 
plenty  of  mystical  significance  attached  to  it. 

But  monks  and  nuns  are  men  and  women  ;  and 
neither  cloister  life,  nor  capuchin  hoods  and  cloaks, 
nor  bare  feet,  nor  protracted  midnight  services,  can 
prevent  heartburnings  and  rivalries,  nor  can  all  of 
these  together  put  down — what  is  most  to  be  dreaded 
in  a  monastery — the  growth  of  affection  between  man 
and  woman.  What  could  be  done  to  tame  human 
nature  into  submission,  to  bring  it  to  rejoice  only  in 
unearthly  meditations,  and  a  contented  round  of  self- 
denial  and  psalm-singing,  Brother  Friedsam  had  tried 
on  his  followers  with  the  unsparing  hand  of  a  relig 
ious  enthusiast.  He  had  forbidden  all  animal  food. 
Not  only  was  meat  of  evil  tendency,  but  milk,  he 


SISTER  TABEA.  3 

said,  made  the  spirit  heavy  and  narrow ;  butter  and 
cheese  produced  similar  disabilities ;  eggs  excited  the 
passions ;  honey  made  the  eyes  bright  and  the  heart 
cheerful,  but  did  not  clear  the  voice  for  music.  So 
he  approved  chiefly  of  those  plain  things  that  sprang 
direct  from  the  earth,  particularly  of  potatoes,  tur 
nips,  and  other  roots,  with  a  little  bread  soup  and 
such  like  ghostly  diet.  For  drink  he  would  have 
nothing  but  what  he  called  "innocent  clear  water," 
just  as  it  flowed  from  the  spring. 

But  even  a  dish  of  potatoes  and  turnips  and  beets 
and  carrots,  eaten  from  wooden  trenchers,  without 
milk  or  butter  or  meat,  was  not  sufficient  to  make  the 
affections  and  passions  of  men  and  women  as  ethereal 
as  Friedsam  wished.  He  wedded  his  people  in  mystic 
marriage  to  "  the  Chaste  Lamb,"  to  borrow  his  fre 
quent  phrase.  They  sang  ecstatically  of  a  mystical 
city  of  brotherly  and  sisterly  affection  which  they,  in 
common  with  other  dreamers  of  the  time,  called 
Philadelphia,  and  they  rejoiced  in  a  divine  creature 
called  in  their  mystical  jargon  Sophia,  which  I  sup 
pose  meant  wisdom,  wisdom  divorced  from  common 
sense.  These  anchorites  did  not  eschew  social  enjoy 
ment,  but  held  little  love  feasts.  The  sisters  now 
invited  the  brethren,  and  next  the  brethren  enter 
tained  the  sisters  —  with  unbuttered  parsnips  and 
draughts  of  innocent  clear  water,  no  doubt. 

That  which  was  most  remarkable  at  Ephrata,  and 


4  DUFFELS. 

that  out  of  which  grows  my  story,  was  the  music. 
Brother  Friedsam,  besides  his  cares  of  organization, 
finance,  and  administration,  and  his  mystical  theo 
logical  speculations,  was  also  a  poet.  Most  of  the 
songs  sung  in  the  little  building  called  "  Zion  "  were 
written  by  him — songs  about  "  the  lonesome  turtle 
dove  in  the  wilderness,"  that  is,  the  Church  ;  songs  in 
praise  of  the  mystical  marriage  of  virgins  with  the 
chaste  Lamb ;  songs  about  the  Philadelphia!!  brother 
hood  of  saints,  about  the  divine  Sophia,  and  about 
many  other  things  which  no  man  can  understand,  I 
am  sure,  until  he  has  first  purified  himself  from  the 
gross  humors  of  the  flesh  by  a  heavenly  diet  of  tur 
nips  and  spring  water.  To  the  brethren  and  sisters 
who  believed  their  little  community  in  the  Pennsyl 
vania  woods  to  be  "  the  Woman  in  the  Wilderness  " 
seen  by  St.  John,  these  words  represented  the  only 
substantial  and  valuable  things  in  the  wide  universe  ; 
and  they  sang  the  songs  of  Conrad  Beissels  with  as 
much  fervor  as  they  could  have  sung  the  songs  of 
heaven  its'elf .  Beissels — the  Friedsam  of  the  brother 
hood — was  not  only  the  poet  but  the  composer  of  the 
chor*al  songs,  and  a  composer  of  rare  merit.  The 
music  he  wrote  is  preserved  as  it  was  copied  out  with 
great  painstaking  by  the  brethren  and  sisters.  In 
looking  over  the  wonderful  old  manuscript  notebook, 
the  first  impression  is  one  of  delight  with  the  quaint 
symbolic  illuminations  wrought  by  the  nuns  of  Ephra- 


SISTER  TABEA.  5 

ta  upon  the  margins.  But  those  who  know  music 
declare  that  the  melodies  are  lovely,  and  that  the 
whole  structure  of  the  harmonies  is  masterful,  and 
worthy  of  the  fame  they  had  in  the  days  when  monks 
and  nuns  performed  them  under  the  lead  of  Brother 
Friedsam  himself.  In  the  gallery  of  Zion  house,  but 
concealed  from  the  view  of  the  brethren,  sat  the  sis 
terhood,  like  a  company  of  saints  in  spotless  robes. 
Below,  the  brethren,  likewise  in  white,  answered  to 
the  choir  above  in  antiphonal  singing  of  the  loveliest 
and  most  faultless  sort.  Strangers  journeyed  from 
afar  over  rough  country  roads  to  hear  this  wonderful 
chorus,  and  were  moved  in  the  depths  of  their  souls 
with  the  indescribable  sweetness  and  loftiness  of  the 
music,  and  with  the  charm  and  expressiveness  of  its 
rendering  by  these  pale-faced  other-worldly  singers. 

But  their  perfection  of  execution  was  attained  at  a 
cost  almost  too  great.  Brother  Friedsam  was  a  fa 
natic,  and  he  was  also  an  artist.  He  obliged  the  breth 
ren  and  sisters  to  submit  to  the  most  rigorous  train 
ing.  In  this,  as  in  religion,  he  subordinated  them  to 
his  ideals.  He  would  fain  tune  their  very  souls  to 
his  own  key ;  and  he  exacted  a  precision  that  was 
difficult  of  attainment  by  men  and  women  of  average 
fallibility  and  carelessness.  The  men  singers  were 
divided  into  five  choruses  of  five  persons  each ;  the 
sisters  were  classified,  according  to  the  pitch  of  their 
voices,  into  three  divisions,  each  of  which  sang  or 


6  DUFFELS. 

kept  silent,  according  to  the  duty  assigned  to  it  in 
the  notebook.  At  the  love-feasts  these  choruses  sat 
side  by  side  at  the  table,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  sing 
together  with  perfect  precision  whenever  a  song 
should  be  announced.  At  the  singing  school  Brother 
Friedsam  could  not  abide  the  least  defect ;  he  rated 
roundly  the  brother  or  sister  who  made  any  mistake ; 
he  scourged  their  lagging  aspirations  toward  perfec 
tion.  If  it  is  ever  necessary  to  account  for  bad  tem 
per  in  musicians,  one  might  suggest  that  the  water- 
gruel  diet  had  impaired  his  temper  and  theirs  ;  certain 
it  is  that  out  of  the  production  of  so  much  heavenly 
harmony  there  sprang  discord.  The  brethren  and  sis 
ters  grew  daily  more  and  more  indignant  at  the  se 
verity  of  the  director,  whom  they  reverenced  as  a 
religious  guide,  but  against  wrhom,  as  a  musical  con 
ductor,  they  rebelled  in  their  hearts. 

The  sisters  were  the  first  to  act  in  this  crisis.  At 
their  knitting  and  their  sewing  they  talked  about  it, 
in  the  kitchen  they  discussed  it,  until  their  hearts 
burned  within  them.  Even  in  illuminating  the  note 
book  with  pretty  billing  turtledoves,  and  emblem 
atic  flowers  such  as  must  have  grown  in  paradise, 
since  nothing  of  the  sort  was  ever  known  in  any 
earthly  garden — even  in  painting  these,  some  of  the 
nuns  came  near  to  spoiling  their  colors  and  blurring 
their  pages  with  tears. 

Only  Margaretha  Thome,  who  was  known  in  the 


SISTER  TABEA.  7 

convent  as  Sister  Tabea,  shed  no  tears.  She  worked 
with  pen  and  brush,  and  heard  the  others  talk ;  now 
and  then,  when  some  severe  word  of  Brother  Fried- 
sam's  was  repeated,  she  would  look  up  with  a  signifi 
cant  flash  of  the  eye. 

"The  Hofcavalier  doesn't  talk,"  said  Sister  Thecla. 
This  Thecla  had  given  the  nickname  of  "  Hofcava 
lier  "  (noble  courtier\  to  Tabea  at  her  first  arrival  in 
the  convent  on  account  of  her  magnificent  figure  and 
high  carriage. 

"  You  shouldn't  give  nicknames,  Sister  Thecla." 

The  last  speaker  was  a  sister  with  an  austere  face 
and  gray  eyes  which  had  no  end  of  cold-blooded  re 
ligious  enthusiasm  in  them. 

"  I  need  not  give  you  a  nickname,"  retorted  Thecla 
to  the  last  speaker  ;  "  Brother  Friedsam  did  that  when 
he  called  you  Jael.  You  are  just  the  kind  of  person 
to  drive  a  tent-nail  through  a  man's  head." 

"  If  he  were  the  enemy  of  the  Church  of  God," 
said  Jael,  in  a  voice  as  hard  as  it  was  sincere. 

Then  the  talk  drifted  back  to  the  singing  school 
and  Brother  Friedsam's  severity. 

"  But  why  doesn't  the  Hofcavalier  speak  ? "  again 
persisted  Thecla. 

"When  the  Hofcavalier  speaks,  it  will  be  to 
Brother  Friedsam  himself,"  answered  Tabea. 

The  temerity  of  this  proposition  took  Thecla's 
breath,  but  it  set  the  storm  a-going  more  vigorously 


8  DUFFELS. 

than  before  among  the  sisterhood,  who,  having  found 
somebody  ready  to  bell  the  cat,  grew  eager  to  have 
the  cat  belled.  Only  Sister  Jael,  who  for  lack  of 
voice  was  not  included  in  either  of  the  three  choruses 
of  the  sisterhood,  stoutly  defended  Brother  Friedsam, 
thinking,  perhaps,  that  it  was  not  a  bad  thing  to  have 
the  conceit  of  the  singers  reduced ;  indeed,  she  was 
especially  pleased  that  Tabea,  the  unsurpassed  singer 
of  the  sisters'  gallery,  should  have  suffered  rebuke. 

At  length  it  was  agreed  that  Tabea  should  tell 
Brother  Friedsam  that  the  sisters  did  not  intend  to  go 
to  singing  school  again. 

Then  Tabea  lifted  up  her  dark  head  and  regarded 
the  circle  of  women  in  white  garments  about  her. 

"  You  are  all  brave  now,  but  when  Brother  Fried 
sam  shakes  his  finger  at  you,  you  will  every  one  of 
you  submit  as  though  you  were  a  set  of  redemptioners 
bought  with  his  money.  When  I  tell  Brother  Fried 
sam  that  I  shall  not  come  to  singing  school,  I  shall 
stick  to  it.  He  may  get  his  music  performed  by  some 
one  else.  He  will  not  call  me  a  '  ninny '  again." 

"  There  spoke  the  Hofcavalier,"  giggled  Thecla. 

"  Sister  Tabea,"  said  Jael,  "  if  you  go  on  as  you 
are  going,  you  will  end  by  leaving  the  convent  and 
breaking  your  vows.  Mark  my  words." 

"  I  am  going  to  finish  this  turtledove  first, 
though,"  said  Tabea  gayly. 

It  was  finally  agreed  that  if  Tabea  would  speak  to 


SISTER  TABEA.  9 

the  director  on  behalf  of  the  sisterhood,  the  sisters 
would  resolutely  stand  by  their  threat,  and  that  they 
would  absent  themselves  from  Brother  Friedsam's 
music  drills  long  enough  to  have  him  understand  that 
they  were  not  to  be  treated  like  children.  To  the  sur 
prise  of  all,  Tabea  left  her  work  at  once,  covered  up 
her  head  with  the  hood  attached  to  her  gown,  and 
sought  the  lodge  of  Brother  Friedsam,  which  stood 
between  Bethany  and  Sharon. 

When  Tabea  was  admitted  to  the  cell,  and  stood 
before  the  revered  Friedsam,  she  felt  an  unexpected 
palpitation.  Nor  was  Beissels  any  more  composed. 
He  could  never  speak  to  this  girl  without  some  mental 
disturbance. 

"  Brother  Friedsam,"  she  said,  "  I  am  sent  by  the 
sisters  to  say  that  they  are  very  indignant  at  your 
treatment  of  them  in  the  rehearsals,  and  that  they  are 
not  going  to  attend  them  hereafter." 

Beissels's  sensitive  lips  quivered  a  moment;  this 
sudden  rebellion  surprised  him,  and  he  did  not  at  first 
see  how  to  meet  it. 

"  You  suggested  this  course  to  them,  I  suppose  ? " 
he  said  after  a  pause. 

"  No,  Brother  Friedsam,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it  until  now.  But  I  think  they  are  right,  and  I  hope 
they  will  keep  to  their  word.  You  have  been  alto 
gether  too  hard  on  us." 

The  director  made  no  reply,  but  wearily  leaned 
2 


10  DUFFELS. 

his  pale,  refined  face  upon  his  hand  and  looked  np  at 
Tabea.  This  look  of  inquiry  had  something  of  unliap- 
piness  in  it  that  touched  the  nun's  heart,  and  she  was 
half  sorry  that  she  had  spoken  so  sharply.  She  fum 
bled  for  the  wooden  latch  of  the  door  presently,  and 
went  out  with  a  sense  of  inward  defeat  and  annoy 
ance. 

"  The  Hofcavalier  does  not  come  back  with  head 
in  the  air,"  murmured  Thecla.  "  A  bad  sign." 

"I  gave  the  message,"  said  Sister  Tabea,  "and 
Brother  Friedsam  did  not  say  whether  the  four  parts 
sung  by  the  men  would  be  sufficient  or  not.  But  I 
know  very  well  what  he  will  do ;  he  will  coax  you  all 
back  within  a  week." 

"  And  you  will  leave  the  convent  and  break  your 
vows ;  mark  my  words,"  said  Sister  Jael  with  sharp 
ness. 

"  It  will  be  after  I  get  this  page  finished,  I  tell 
you,"  said  Tabea.  But  she  did  not  seem  in  haste  to 
finish  the  page,  for,  not  choosing  to  show  how  much 
she  had  been  discomposed  by  Brother  Friedsam's  wist 
ful  and  inquiring  look,  she  gathered  up  her  brush,  her 
colors,  and  the  notebook  page  on  which  she  had  been 
at  work,  and  went  up  the  stairs  alongside  the  great 
chimney,  shutting  herself  in  her  cell. 

Once  there,  the  picture  of  Friedsam's  face  came 
vividly  before  her.  She  recalled  her  first  meeting 
with  him  at  her  mother's  house  on  the  Wissahickon, 


SISTER  TABEA.  H 

and  how  her  heart  had  gone  out  to  the  only  man  she 
had  ever  met  whose  character  was  out  of  the  common. 
I  do  not  say  that  she  had  consciously  loved  him  as  she 
listened  to  him,  sitting  there  on  the  homemade  stool 
in  her  mother's  cabin  and  talking  of  things  beyond 
comprehension.  But  she  could  have  loved  him,  and 
she  did  worship  him.  It  was  the  personal  fascination 
of  Brother  Friedsam  and  her  own  vigorous  hatred  of 
the  commonplace  that  had  led  her  three  years  before 
to  join  the  sisterhood  in  the  Sharon  house.  She  did 
not  know  to  what  degree  a  desire  for  Beissels's  com 
panionship  had  drawn  her  to  accept  his  speculations 
concerning  the  mystical  Sophia  and  the  Philadelphian 
fellowship.  But  the  convent  had  proved  a  disappoint 
ment.  She  had  seen  little  of  the  great  Brother  Fried 
sam,  and  he  had  given  her,  instead  of  friendly  notice 
and  approval,  only  a  schoolmaster's  scolding  now  and 
then  for  slight  faults  committed  in  singing  a  new 
piece. 

As  she  sat  there  in  gloomy  meditation  Jael's  evil 
prediction  entered  her  mind,  and  she  amused  herself 
with  dreams  of  what  might  take  place  if  she  should 
leave  the  convent  and  go  out  into  the  world  again. 

In  putting  away  her  papers  a  little  note  fell  out. 

"  The  goose  is  at  it  again,"  she  said. 

She  had  that  day  received  some  blank  paper  from 
the  paper  mill  of  the  community,  and  Daniel  Scheible 
had  put  this  little  love  letter  into  the  package  of  which 


12  DUFFELS. 

he  was  the  bearer.  He  had  sent  such  letters  before, 
and  Tabea,  though  she  had  not  answered  them,  had 
kept  them,  partly  because  she  did  not  wish  to  inform 
those  in  authority  of  this  breach  of  rule,  partly  be 
cause  so  much  defiance  of  the  law  of  the  place  gave  a 
little  zest  to  a  monotonous  life,  and  partly  because  she 
was  a  young  woman,  and  therefore  not  displeased  with 
affection,  even  from  a  youth  in  whom  she  had  no  more 
than  a  friendly  interest. 

Scheible's  parents  had  been  Dunkards,  persecuted 
in  Europe,  who  had  sought  refuge  from  their  troubles 
by  the  bad  expedient  of  taking  ship  for  Philadelphia, 
with  an  understanding  that  they  were,  according  to 
custom,  to  be  sold  for  a  term  of  years  to  pay  the  fare. 
Among  a  multitude  who  died  on  the  passage  from  the 
overcrowding  and  bad  food  were  Daniel's  father  and 
mother,  and  the  little  lad  was  sold  for  the  rest  of  his 
minority  to  pay  his  own  fare  as  well  as  that  of  the 
dead  members  of  his  family.  As  a  promising  boy,  he 
had  been  bought  by  the  Ephrata  brotherhood  and  bred 
into  the  fraternity.  With  the  audacity  of  youth  he 
had  conceived  a  great  passion  for  Tabea,  and  now  that 
his  apprenticeship  was  about  to  expire  he  amused  her 
with  surreptitious  notes.  To-day,  for  the  first  time, 
Tabea  began  to  think  of  the  possibility  of  marrying 
Scheible,  chiefly,  perhaps,  from  a  vague  desire  to 
escape  from  the  convent,  which  could  not  but  be  irk 
some  to  one  of  her  spirit.  Scheible  was  ambitious, 


SISTER  TABEA.  13 

and  it  was  his  plan,  as  she  knew,  to  go  to  Philadelphia 
to  make  his  fortune ;  and  she  and  he  together,  what 
might  they  not  do  ?  Then  she  laughed  at  herself  for 
such  a  day  dream,  and  went  out  to  do  her  share  of 
household  duties,  singing  mellifluously,  as  she  trod 
barefoot  through  the  passages,  a  mystic  song  of  hope 
and  renunciation : 

k'  Welt,  packe  dich ; 

Ich  sehne  mich 

Nur  nach  dem  Himmel. 

Denn  droben  ist  Laclien  mid  Lieben  und  Leben ; 
Hier  unten  ist  Alles  dem  Eiteln  ergeben." 

Which  rendered  may  read  : 

"  World,  get  you  gone ; 

I  strive  alone 

To  attain  heaven. 

There  above  is  laughter,  life,  and  love; 
Here  below  one  must  all  vanity  forego." 

But  though  to-day  she  sang  of  the  laughter  that 
is  above,  she  was  less  unworldly  on  the  morrow. 
Brother  Friedsam,  as  she  had  foreseen,  began  to  break 
down  the  rebellion  about  the  singing  school.  He  was 
too  good  a  strategist  to  attack  the  strong  point  of  the 
insurrection  first.  He  began  with  good-natured  Thecla, 
who  could  laugh  away  yesterday's  vexations,  and  so 
one  by  one  he  conquered  the  opposition  in  detail.  He 
shrank  from  assailing  the  Hofcavalier  until  he  should 
have  won  the  others,  knowing  well  the  obstinacy  of 
her  resolution.  And  when  all  the  rest  had  yielded  he 


14  DUFFELS. 

still  said  nothing  to  Tabea,  either  because  he  deemed 
it  of  no  use,  or  because  he  thought  neglect  might  do 
her  rebellious  spirit  good.  But  if  this  last  were  his 
plan,  he  had  miscalculated  the  vigor  of  her  determi 
nation. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  the  good-hearted,  gossipy 
little  Sister  Persida,  coming  into  Tabea's  cell  two  or 
three  days  later,  "  that  the  sisters  have  all  yielded  to 
Brother  Friedsam?  He  coaxed  and  managed  them 
BO,  you  know.  Has  he  talked  to  you  \  " 

"  No." 

"You'll  have  to  give  up  when  he  does.  Nobody 
can  resist  Brother  Friedsam." 

"  I  can." 

"  You  always  scare  me  so,  Sister  Tabea ;  I  wouldn't 
dare  hold  up  my  head  as  you  do." 

But  when  Persida  had  gone  out  the  high  head  of 
the  Hofcavalier  wrent  down  a  little.  She  felt  that  the 
man  whom  she  in  some  sort  worshiped  had  put  upon 
her  a  public  slight.  He  did  not  account  it  worth  his 
while  to  invite  her  to  return.  She  had  missed  her 
chance  to  refuse.  Just  what  connection  Brother 
Friedsam's  slight  had  with  Daniel  Scheible's  love  let 
ters  I  leave  the  reader  to  determine.  But  in  her  anger 
she  fished  these  notes  out  of  a  basket  used  to  hold  her 
changes  of  white  raiment,  and  read  them  all  over 
slowly,  line  by  line,  and  for  the  first  time  with  a  lively 
interest  in  their  contents.  They  were  very  ingenious ; 


SISTER  TABEA.  15 

and  they  very  cleverly  pictured  to  her  tlie  joys  of  a 
home  of  her  own  with  a  devoted  husband.  She  found 
evidences  of  very  amiable  traits  in  the  writer.  But 
why  should  I  trace  in  detail  the  curious  but  familiar 
process  by  which  a  girl  endows  a  man  with  all  the 
qualities  she  wishes  him  to  possess  ? 

The  very  next  day  Scheible,  who  had  been  melan 
choly  ever  since  he  began  to  send  to  Tabea  letters  that 
brought  no  answer,  was  observed  to  be  in  a  mood  so 
gleeful  that  his  companions  in  the  paper  mill  doubted 
his  sanity.  The  fountain  of  this  joy  was  a  note  from 
Tabea  stowed  away  in  the  pocket  of  his  gown.  She 
had  not  signed  it  with  her  convent  title,  but  with  the 
initials  M.  T.,  for  her  proper  name,  Margaretha 
Thome.  There  wrere  many  fluctuations  in  Tabea's 
mind  and  many  persuasive  notes  from  Scheible  be 
fore  the  nun  at  length  promised  to  forsake  the  con 
vent,  now  grown  bitter  to  her,  for  the  joys  of  a  home. 
Even  then  Daniel  could  not  help  feeling  insecure  in 
regard  to  a  piece  of  good  fortune  so  dazzling,  and  he 
sent  note  after  note  to  urge  her  to  have  the  day  for  the 
wedding  fixed. 

Meantime  the  young  man  created  but  little  sensa 
tion  by  leaving  the  mill,  as  his  term  of  apprenticeship 
had  expired,  and  he  had  never  professed  much  attach 
ment  to  the  brotherhood. 

Sister  Tabea  had  persistently  omitted  the  rehears 
als,  and  so  the  grand  chorals  were  now  given  on  the 


16  DUFFELS. 

Sabbaths  without  her  voice,  and  Jael  felt  no  little 
exultation  at  this  state  of  things.  At  length,  after 
much  wavering,  Tabea  made  a  final  resolution  to  leave 
the  convent,  and  to  accept  the  love  of  the  adventurous 
youth  who  had  shown  so  persistent  an  affection  for 
her. 

As  soon  as  the  day  of  the  wadding  was  arranged 
by  means  of  the  surreptitious  notes  which  she  con 
tinued  to  exchange  with  Scheible,  she  prepared  to 
leave  Sharon  and  Ephrata.  But  nothing  could  be 
farther  from  her  plans  than  the  project  proposed  by 
her  lover  that  she  should  elope  with  him  at  night. 
Tabea  meant  to  march  out  with  all  her  colors 
flying. 

First  of  all  she  went  to  see  the  sinister  prophetess, 
Sister  Jael. 

"  I've  finished  that  turtledove,  Sister  Jael,  and  now 
I  am  going  to  leave  the  sisterhood  and  marry  Daniel 
Scheible." 

Nothing  is  so  surprising  to  a  prophet  as  the  fulfill 
ment  of  his  most  confident  prediction.  Jael  looked 
all  aghast,  and  her  face  splintered  into  the  most  con 
tradictory  lines  in  the  effort  to  give  expression  to  the 
most  conflicting  emotions. 

"I'm  astonished  at  you,"  she  said  reprovingly, 
when  she  got  breath. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  expected  it,"  replied  Tabea. 

"  Will  you  break  your  vow? " 


SISTER  TABEA.  17 

"  Yes.  Why  shouldn't  a  woman  break  a  vow  made 
by  a  girl  ?  And  so,  good-by,  Sister  Jael.  Can't  you 
wish  me  much  joy  ?  " 

But  Jael  turned  sharply  away  in  a  horror  that 
could  find  no  utterance. 

Thecla  laughed,  as  was  her  wont,  and  wished  Tabea 
happiness,  but  intimated  that  Daniel  was  a  bold  man 
to  undertake  to  subdue  the  Hofcavalier.  Sister  Per- 
sida's  woman's  heart  was  set  all  a-flutter,  and  she  quite 
forgot  that  she  was  trying  to  be  a  nun,  and  that  she 
belonged  to  the  solitary  and  forsaken  turtledove 
in  the  wilderness.  She  whispered  in  Tabea's  ear: 
"  You'll  look  so  nice  when  you're  married,  dear,  and 
Daniel  will  be  so  pleased,  and  the  young  men  will  steal 
your  slipper  off  your  foot  at  the  dinner  table,  and  how 
I  wish  I  could  be  there  to  see  you  married  !  But  oh, 
Tabea !  I  don't  see  how  you  dare  to  face  them  all ! 
I'd  just  run  away  with  all  my  might  if  I  were  in  your 
place." 

And  so  each  one  took  the  startling  intelligence 
according  to  her  character,  and  soon  all  work  was  sus 
pended,  and  every  inmate  of  Sharon  was  gathered  in 
unwonted  excitement  in  the  halls  and  the  common 
room. 

When  Tabea  passed  out  of  the  low-barred  door  of 
Sharon  she  met  the  radiant  face  of  Scheible,  who  had 
tied  his  two  saddle  horses  a  little  way  off. 

"  Come  quickly,  Tabea,"  he  said  with  impatience. 


18  DUFFELS. 

"  No,  Daniel ;  it  won't  do  to  be  rude.  I  must  tell 
Brother  Friedsain  good-by." 

"  No,  don't,"  said  Daniel,  turning  pale  with  terror. 
"  If  you  go  in  to  see  the  director  you  will  never  come 
with  me." 

"  Why  won't  I  ? "  laughed  the  defiant  girl. 

"  He's  a  wizard,  and  has  charms  that  he  gets  out  of 
his  great  books.  Don't  go  in  there  ;  you'll  never  get 
away." 

Daniel  held  to  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  supersti 
tions,  but  Tabea  only  laughed,  and  said,  "  I  am  not 
afraid  of  wizards."  She  looked  the  Hofcavalier  more 
than  ever  as  she  left  the  trembling  fellow  and  went  up 
to  the  door  of  Brother  Friedsam's  lodge. 

"  She  isn't  afraid  of  the  devil"  muttered  Scheible. 

Tabea  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in  and  welcome,  whoever  thou  art,"  said 
the  director  within. 

But  when  she  had  lifted  the  latch  and  pushed  back 
the  door,  squeaking  on  its  wooden  hinges,  Tabea  found 
that  Friedsam  was  engaged  in  some  business  with  the 
prior  of  the  convent,  the  learned  Dr.  Peter  Miller, 
known  at  Ephrata  as  Brother  Jabez.  Friedsam  did 
not  at  first  look  up.  The  delay  embarrassed  her ;  she 
had  time  to  see,  with  painful  clearness,  all  the  little 
articles  in  the  slenderly  furnished  room.  She  noticed 
that  the  billet  of  wood  which  lay  for  a  pillow,  accord 
ing  to  the  Ephrata  custom,  on  a  bare  bench  used  for  a 


SISTER  TABEA.  10 

bed,  was  worn  upon  one  side  with  long  use ;  she  saw 
how  the  bell  rope  by  means  of  which  Friedsam  called 
the  brethren  and  sisters  to  prayers  at  any  hour  in  the 
night,  hung  dangling  near  the  bench,  so  that  the  bell 
might  be  pulled  on  a  sudden  inspiration  even  while 
the  director  was  rising  from  his  wooden  couch ;  she 
noted  the  big  books ;  and  then  a  great  reverence  for 
his  piety  and  learning  fell  upon  her,  and  a  homesick 
regret ;  and  Scheible  and  the  wedding  frolic  did  not 
seem  so  attractive  after  all.  Nevertheless  she  held  up 
her  head  like  a  defiant  Hofcavalier. 

After  a  time  Brother  Jabez,  with  a  kind  greeting, 
passed  her,  and  the  director,  looking  up,  said  very 
gently : 

"  I  wish  you  a  very  good  day,  Sister  Tabea." 

"  I  am  no  longer  Sister  Tabea,  but  Margaretha 
Thome.  I  have  said  adieu  to  all  in  Sharon,  and  now 
I  come  to  say  good-by  to  Brother  Friedsam.  I  am 
going  to  lay  aside  these  garments  and  marry  Daniel 
Scheible." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  but  Friedsam  was  too  much 
stunned  to  see  it. 

"  You  have  broken  your  vow !  You  have  denied 
the  Lord!" 

There  was  no  severity  in  his  despondent  rebuke  ; 
it  had  the  vibration  of  an  involuntary  cry  of  surprise 
and  pain. 

Tabea  was  not  prepared  for  this.     Severity  she 


20  DUFFELS. 

could  have  defied  ;  but  this  cry  of  a  prophet  awakened 
her  own  conscience,  and  she  trembled  as  if  she  had 
been  in  the  light  of  a  clear-seeing  divine  judgment. 

"  You  can  speak  so,  Brother  Friedsam,  for  you 
have  no  human  weaknesses.  I  am  not  suited  to  a 
convent ;  I  never  can  be  happy  here.  I  am  not  sub 
missive.  I  want  to  be  necessary  to  somebody.  No 
body  cares  for  me  here.  You  do  not  mind  whether  I 
sing  in  the  chorals  or  not,  and  you  will  be  better 
pleased  to  have  me  away,  and  I  am  going"  Then, 
finding  that  the  director  remained  silent,  she  said, 
with  emotion :  "  Brother  Friedsam,  I  have  a  great 
reverence  for  you,  but  I  wish  you  knew  something  of 
the  infirmities  of  a  heart  that  wants  to  love  and  to  be 
loved  by  somebody,  and  then  maybe  you  would  not 
think  so  very  hardly  of  Tabea  after  she  has  gone." 

There  was  a  tone  of  beseeching  in  these  last  words 
which  Tabea  had  not  been  wont  to  use. 

The  director  looked  more  numb  now  than  ever. 
Tabea's  words  had  given  him  a  rude  blow,  and  he 
could  not  at  once  recover.  His  lips  moved  without 
speaking,  and  his  face  assumed  a  look  betokening  in 
ward  suffering. 

"  Great  God  of  wisdom,  must  I  then  tell  her  ? " 
said  Friedsam  when  lie  got  breath.  He  stood  up 
and  gazed  out  of  the  square  window  in  indecision. 

"  Tabea,"  he  said  presently,  turning  full  upon  her 
and  looking  into  her  now  pale  face  upturned  to  the 


SISTER  TABEA.  21 

light,  "  I  thought  my  secret  would  die  in  my  breast, 
but  you  wring  it  from  me.  You  say  that  I  have  no 
infirmities — no  desire  for  companionship  like  other 
men  or  women.  It  is  the  voice  of  Sophia,  the  wis 
dom  of  the  Almighty,  that  bids  me  humble  myself  be 
fore  you  this  day." 

Here  he  paused  in  visible  but  suppressed  emotion. 
"  These  things,"  he  said,  pointing  to  his  wooden  couch, 
"  these  hardships  of  the  body,  these  self-denials  of  my 
vocation,  give  me  no  trouble.  I  have  one  great  soul- 
affliction,  and  that  is  what  you  reproach  me  for  lack 
ing,  namely,  the  longing  to  love  and  to  be  loved.  And 
that  trial  you  laid  upon  me  the  first  time  I  saw  your 
face  and  heard  your  words  in  your  mother's  house 
on  the  Wissahickon.  O  Tabea,  you  are  not  like  the 
rest !  you  are  not  like  the  rest !  Even  when  you  go 
wrong,  it  is  not  like  the  rest.  It  is  the  vision  of  the 
life  I  might  have  led  with  such  a  woman  as  you  that 
troubles  my  dreams  in  the  night-time,  when,  across 
the  impassable  gulf  of  my  irrevocable  vow,  I  have 
stretched  out  my  hands  in  entreaty  to  you." 

This  declaration  changed  instantly  the  color  of 
Tabea's  thoughts  of  life.  Daniel  Scheible  and  his  lit 
tle  love  scrawls  seemed  to  her  lofty  spirit  as  nothing 
now  that  she  saw  herself  in  the  light  thrown  upon  her 
by  the  love  of  the  great  master  whose  spirit  had 
evoked  Ephrata,  and  whose  genius  uttered  itself  in 
angelic  harmonies.  She  loathed  the  little  life  that 


22  DUFFELS. 

now  opened  before  her.  There  seemed  nothing  in 
heaven  or  earth  so  desirable  as  to  possess  the  esteem 
of  Friedsam.  But  she  stood  silent  and  condemned. 

"  I  have  had  one  comfort,"  proceeded  Brother 
Friedsam  after  a  while.  "When  I  have  perceived 
your  strength  of  character,  when  I  have  heard  your 
exquisite  voice  uttering  the  melodies  with  which  I  am 
inspired,  I  have  thought  my  work  was  sweeter  because 
Tabea  shared  it,  and  I  have  hoped  that  you  would 
yet  more  and  more  share  it  as  years  and  discipline 
should  ripen  your  spirit." 

The  director  felt  faint ;  he  sat  down  and  looked 
dejectedly  into  the  corner  of  the  room  farthest  away 
from  where  Tabea  stood.  lie  roused  himself  in  a 
few  moments,  and  turned  about  again,  to  find  Tabea 
kneeling  on  the  flagstones  before  him. 

"  I  have  denied  the  Lord ! "  she  moaned,  for  her 
judgment  had  now  come  completely  round  to  Fried- 
sam's  standpoint.  His  condemnation  seemed  bitterer 
than  death.  "  Brother  Friedsam,  I  have  denied  the 
Lord ! " 

Friedsam  regarded  the  kneeling  figure  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  he  reached  out  his  hands,  solemnly 
placing  them  on  her  head  with  a  motherly  tenderness, 
while  a  tremor  went  through  his  frame. 

"Thou,  dear  child,  shalt  do  thy  first  work  over 
again,"  he  said.  "  Thou  shalt  take  a  new  vow,  and 
when  thou  art  converted  then  shalt  thou,  like  Peter, 


SISTER  TABEA.  23 

strengthen  the  others."  And,  withdrawing  his  hands, 
he  said  :  "  I  will  pray  for  you,  Tabea,  every  night  of 
my  life  when  I  hear  the  cock  crow." 

Tabea  rose  up  slowly  and  went  out  at  the  door, 
walking  no  longer  like  a  Hof cavalier,  but  like  one  in 
a  trance.  Dimly  she  saw  the  sisters  standing  without 
the  door  of  Sharon ;  there  was  Thecla,  with  half- 
amused  face,  and  there  was  Persida,  curious  as  ever ; 
there  were  Sister  Petronella  and  Sister  Blandina  and 
others,  and  behind  all  the  straight,  tall  form  of  austere 
Jael.  Without  turning  to  the  right  or  to  the  left, 
Tabea  directed  her  steps  to  the  group  at  the  door  of 
Sharon. 

"  No  !  no  !  come,  dear  Tabea ! "  It  was  the  voice 
of  Daniel  Scheible,  whose  existence  she  had  almost 
forgotten. 

"  Poor  Daniel !  "  she  said,  pausing  and  looking  at 
him  with  pity. 

" Don't  say  'Poor  Daniel,'  but  come" 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  said  Tabea. 

"You  are  bewitched!"  he  cried,  seizing  her  and 
drawing  her  away.  "  I  knew  Friedsam  would  put  a 
charm  on  you." 

She  absently  allowed  him  to  lead  her  a  few  steps  ; 
then,  with  another  look  full  of  tender  pity  and  regret 
at  his  agitated  face,  she  extricated  herself  from  his 
embrace  and  walked  rapidly  to  the  door.  Quicken 
ing  her  steps  to  escape  his  pursuing  grasp,  she  pushed 


24  DUFFELS. 

through  the  group  of  sisters  and  fled  along  the  hall 
way  and  up  the  stairs,  closing  the  door  of  her  cell 
and  fastening  down  the  latch. 

Scheible,  sure  that  she  was  under  some  evil  spell, 
rushed  after  her,  shook  himself  loose  from  the  grip  of 
Sister  Jael,  who  sought  to  stop  him,  and  reached  the 
door  of  Tabea's  cell.  But  all  his  knocking  brought 
not  one  word  of  answer,  and  after  a  while  Brother 
Jabez  came  in  and  led  the  poor  fellow  out,  to  the 
great  grief  of  Sister  Persida,  who  in  her  heart  thought 
it  a  pity  to  spoil  a  wedding. 

The  sisters  who  came  to  call  Tabea  to  supper  that 
evening  also  failed  to  elicit  any  response.  Late  in  the 
night,  when  she  had  become  calm,  Tabea  heard  the 
crowing  of  a  cock,  and  her  heart  was  deeply  touched 
at  the  thought  that  Friedsam,  the  revered  Friedsam, 
now  more  than  ever  the  beloved  of  her  soul,  was  at 
that  moment  going  to  prayer  for  the  disciple  who  had 
broken  her  vow.  She  rose  from  her  bench  and  fell 
on  her  knees  ;  and  if  she  mistook  the  mingled  feel 
ings  of  penitence  and  human  passion  for  pure  devo 
tion,  she  made  the  commonest  mistake  of  enthusiastic 
spirits. 

But  she  was  not  left  long  to  doubt  that  Friedsam 
had  remembered  her ;  by  the  time  that  the  cock  had 
crowed  the  second  time  the  sound  of  the  monastery 
bell,  the  rope  of  which  hung  just  by  Friedsam's  bed 
side,  broke  abruptly  into  the  deathlike  stillness,  call- 


SISTER  TABEA.  25 

ing  the  monks  and  nuns  of  Ephrata  to  a  solemn  niglit 
service.  Tabea  felt  sure  that  Friedsam  had  called  the 
meeting  at  this  moment  by  way  of  assuring  her  of 
his  remembrance. 

Daniel  Scheible,  who  had  wandered  back  to  the 
neighborhood  in  the  aimlessness  of  disappointment, 
heard  the  monastery  bell  waking  all  the  reverber 
ations  of  the  forest,  and  saw  light  after  light  twinkle 
from  the  little  square  windows  of  Bethany  and  Shar 
on  ;  then  he  saw  the  monks  and  nuns  come  out  of 
Bethany  and  Sharon,  each  carrying  a  small  paper  lan 
tern  as  they  hastened  to  Zion.  The  bell  ceased,  and 
Zion,  which  before  had  been  wrapped  in  night,  shone 
with  light  from  every  window,  and  there  rose  upon 
the  silence  the  voices  of  the  choruses  chanting  an  an- 
tiphonal  song ;  and  disconsolate  Scheible  cursed  Fried 
sam  and  Ephrata,  and  went  off  into  outer  darkness. 

"When  the  first  strophe  had  been  sung  below,  and 
the  sweet-voiced  sisters  caught  up  the  antistrophe, 
Brother  Friedsam,  sitting  in  the  midst,  listened  with 
painful  attention,  vainly  trying  to  detect  the  sound  of 
Tabea's  voice.  But  when  the  second  strophe  had 
been  sung,  and  the  sisters  began  their  second  response, 
a  thrill  of  excitement  went  through  all  as  the  long-' 
silent  voice  of  Sister  Tabea  rose  above  the  rest  with 
even  more  than  its  old  fervor  and  expression. 

And  the  next  Saturday — for  the  seventh  day  was 

the  Ephrata  Sabbath — Tabea  took  a  new,  solemn,  and 
3 


26  DUFFELS. 

irrevocable  vow;  and  from  that  time  until  the  day  of 
her  death  she  was  called  Sister  Anastasia  —  the  name 
signifying  that  she  had  been  re-established.  What 
source  of  consolation  Anastasia  had  the  rest  never  di 
vined.  How  should  they  guess  that  alongside  her 
religious  fervor  a  human  love  grew  ethereally  like  an 
air  plant  ? 

NOTE.— Much  of  this  little  story  is  fact.  I  have  supplied  de 
tails,  dialogue,  and  passion.  For  the  facts  which  constitute  the 
groundwork  I  am  chiefly  indebted  to  Dr.  Oswald  W.  Seiden- 
sticker's  very  valuable  monograph  entitled  "  Ephrata,  cine  ameri- 
kanirfchc  Klostergeschichte."  The  reader  will  find  a  briefer  ac 
count  of  the  monastery  from  the  same  learned  and  able  writer 
in  The  Century  magazine  for  December,  1881. 


THE    REDEMPTIONS^. 

A  STORY  IN  THREE  SCENES. 
PROLOGUE. 

THE  stories  we  write  are  most  of  them  love  stories ; 
but  in  the  lives  of  men  there  are  also  many  stories 
that  are  not  love  stories :  some,  truly,  that  are  hate 
stories.  The  main  incident  of  the  one  I  am  about  to 
tell  I  found  floating  down  from  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury  on  the  stream  of  Maryland  tradition.  It  serves 
to  present  some  of  our  forefathers,  not  as  they  seem 
in  patriotic  orations  and  reverent  family  traditions, 
but  as  they  appear  to  a  student  of  the  writings  and 
prints  of  their  own  age. 

SCENE   I. 

The  time  was  a  warm  autumn  day  in  the  year 
1751.  The  place  was  a  plantation  on  the  Maryland 
shore  of  the  Potomac.  A  planter  of  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  clad  in  buckskin  shortclothes,  sat  smok 
ing  his  pipe,  after  his  noonday  meal,  in  the  wide  entry 
that  ran  through  his  double  log  house  from  the  south 
side  to  the  north,  the  house  being  of  the  sort  called 


23  DUFFELS. 

al lucratively  "  two  pens  and  a  passage."  The  plant 
er's  wife  sat  over  against  him,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
passage,  carding  home-grown  cotton  wool  with  hand 
cards.  He  had  placed  his  shuck-bottom  chair  so  as  to 
see  down  the  long  reach  to  the  eastward,  where  the 
widening  Potomac  spread  itself  between  low-lying 
banks,  with  never  a  brown  hill  to  break  the  low  hori 
zon  line.  Every  now  and  again  he  took  his  cob  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  scanned  the  distant  water  wist- 
fully. 

"  I  know  what  you're  looking  for,  Mr.  Browne," 
said  his  wife,  as  she  reversed  her  hand  cards  and 
rubbed  the  carded  cotton  between  the  smooth  backs  of 
the  two  implements  to  make  it  into  a  roll  for  spin 
ning.  "  You're  looking  to  see  the  Nancy  Jane  come 
sailing  into  the  river  one  of  these  days." 

u  That's  just  what  I'm  looking  after,"  he  an 
swered. 

"  Why  should  you  care  ? "  she  said.  "  You  don't 
expect  her  to  fetch  you  a  new  bonnet  and  a  hoop 
skirt  seven  feet  wide."  She  laughed  merrily  at  her 
own  speech,  which,  after  all,  was  but  a  trifling  exag 
geration  of  the  width  of  a  hoop  skirt  in  that  time. 

Sanford  Browne  did  not  laugh,  but  took  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  stood  up  a  moment,  straining  his 
sight  once  more  against  the  distant  horizon,  where  the 
green-blue  water  of  the  wide  estuary  melted  into  the 
blue-green  of  the  sky  with  hardly  a  line  of  demarca- 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  29 

tion.  Then  he  sat  down  and  took  a  dry  tobacoo  leaf 
lying  on  a  stool  beside  him  and  crushed  it  to  powder 
by  first  chafing  it  between  his  open  hands  and  then 
grinding  it  in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  rubbing  it 
with  the  thumb  of  his  right  in  a  mortar-and-pestle 
fashion. 

"I've  a  good  deal  more  reason  to  look  for  the 
Nancy  Jane  than  you  have,  Judy.  I  wrote  my  factor, 
you  know,  to  find  some  trace  of  my  father  and  mother, 
or  of  my  sister  Susan,  if  it  took  the  half  of  my  tobacco 
crop.  I  hope  he'll  find  them  this  time."  Saying  this, 
he  filled  his  cob  pipe  with  the  powdered  tobacco,  and 
then  rose  and  walked  into  the  large  western  room  of 
the  house,  wrhich  served  for  kitchen  and  dining-room. 
It  was  also  the  weaving-room,  and  the  great  heavy- 
beamed  loom  stood  in  the  corner.  At  the  farther  end 
wras  the  vast,  smoke-blackened  stone  fireplace,  with 
two  large  rude  andirons  and  a  swinging  crane.  A 
skillet  and  a  gridiron  stood  against  the  jamb  on  one 
side,  a  hoe  for  baking  hoe  cakes  and  a  little  wrought- 
iron  trivet  were  in  order  on  the  other.  The  breakfast 
fire  had  burned  out ;  only  the  great  backlog,  hoary 
with  gray  ashes,  lay  slumbering  at  the  back  of  the 
fireplace.  The  planter  poked  the  drift  of  ashes  be 
tween  the  andirons  with  a  green  oak  stick  until  he 
saw  a  live  coal  shining  red  in  the  gray  about  it. 
This  he  rolled  out  upon  the  hearth,  and  then  took  it 
between  thumb  and  finger  and  deposited  it  within  the 


30  DUFFELS. 

bowl  of  his  pipe  by  a  deft  motion,  which  gave  it  no 
time  to  burn  him. 

Having  got  his  pipe  a-going,  he  strolled  back  into 
the  wide  passage  and  scanned  the  horizon  once  more. 
Judith  Browne  did  not  like  to  see  her  husband  in 
this  mood.  She  knew  well  how  vain  every  exercise 
of  her  wifely  arts  of  diversion  would  prove  when  he 
once  fell  into  this  train  of  black  thoughts  ;  but  she 
could  not  refrain  from  essaying  the  hopeless  task  by 
holding  up  her  apron  of  homespun  cloth  full  of  cot 
ton  rolls,  pretty  in  their  whiteness  and  roundness  and 
softness,  meantime  coquettishly  turning  her  still  girl 
ish  head  on  one  side,  and  saying  :  "  Now,  Mr.  Browne, 
why  don't  you  praise  my  cotton  ?  Did  you  ever  see 
better  carding  than  that  ? " 

The  young  planter  took  a  roll  of  the  cotton  in 
his  hands,  holding  it  gingerly,  and  essaying  absent- 
mindedly  to  yield  to  his  wife's  mood.  Just  at  that 
moment  Sanford  Browne  the  younger,  a  boy  about 
eight  years  of  age,  came  round  the  corner  of  the 
house  and  stood  in  front  of  his  father,  with  his  feet 
wide  apart,  feeling  among  the  miscellanies  in  the  bot 
tom  of  his  pocket  for  a  periwinkle  shell. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  have  him  spirited  away 
by  a  crimp,  Judy  ? "  demanded  the  husband,  replac 
ing  the  cotton  and  pointing  to  the  lad. 

"  I  should  just  die,  dear,"  said  Judy  Browne  in  a 
low  voice. 


THE  REDEMPTIONS!*.  31 

"  That's  what  happened  to  my  mother,  I  suppose," 
said  Browne.  "  I  hope  she  died  ;  it  would  be  too  bad 
to  think  that  she  had  to  live  all  these  twenty-two  years 
imagining  all  sorts  of  things  about  her  lost  little  boy. 
I  remember  her,  Judy,  the  day  I  saw  her  last.  I  went 
out  of  a  side  street  into  Fleet  Street,  and  then  I  grew 
curious  and  went  on  out  through  Temple  Bar  into  the 
road  they  call  the  Strand.  I  did  not  know  how  far 
I  had  gone  from  the  city  until  I  heard  the  great  bell 
of  St.  Martin's  in  the  Fields  chiming  at  five  o'clock. 
I  turned  toward  the  city  again,  but  stopped  along  the 
way  to  look  at  the  noblemen's  houses.  Somehow, 
at  last  I  got  into  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  and  could  not 
tell  which  way  to  go.  Just  then  a  sea  captain  came 
up  to  me,  and,  pretending  to  know  me,  told  me  he 
would  fetch  me  to  my  father.  I  went  with  him,  and 
he  got  me  into  a  boat  and  so  down  to  his  ship  be 
low  the  bridge.  The  ship  was  already  taking  aboard 
a  lot  of  kids  and  freewillers  out  of  the  cook  houses, 
where  some  of  them  had  been  shut  up  for  weeks.  I 
cried  and  begged  for  my  father,  but  the  captain  only 
kicked  and  cuffed  me.  It  was  a  long  and  wretched 
voyage,  as  I  have  told  you  often.  I  was  brought 
here  and  sold  to  work  with  negroes  and  convicts. 
I  don't  so  much  mind  the  beatings  I  got,  or  the 
hard  living,  but  to  think  of  all  my  mother  has  suf 
fered,  and  that  I  shall  never  see  her  or  my  father 
again !  If  I  ever  lay  eyes  on  that  Captain  Lewis, 


32  DUFFELS. 

lie  will  go  to  the  devil  before  lie  lias  time  to  say  any 
prayers." 

"  I'd  like  to  shoot  him,"  said  the  boy,  in  sympathy 
with  his  father's  mood.  "  I'll  kill  him  when  I  get  big 
enough,  pappy."  And  he  went  off  to  seek  the  bow 
and  arrow  given  him  by  an  Indian  who  lingered  in 
the  region  once  occupied  by  his  tribe. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  \vife,  stroking  her  hus 
band's  arm,  "  you  are  getting  rich  now,  and  your  hard 
times  are  over." 

"  Yes,  but  everybody  will  always  remember  that  I 
was  a  bought  redemptioner,  and  your  folks  will  hardly 
ever  forgive  you  for  marrying  me." 

u  Oh,  yes,  they  will  some  day.  If  you  keep  on  as 
lucky  as  you  are,  I  shall  live  in  a  bigger  house  than 
any  of  them,  and  drive  to  church  behind  six  horses. 
That'll  make  a  great  difference.  If  the  Nancy  Jane 
fetches  me  a  London  bonnet  and  a  wide,  wide  petti 
coat  such  as  the  Princess  Augusta  wears,  so  that  I 
can  brush  against  the  pews  on  both  sides  with  my  silk 
frock  when  I  go  down  the  aisle,  my  folks  will  already 
begin  to  think  that  Sanford  Browne  is  somebody,"  and 
she  made  little  motions  of  vanity  as  she  fancied  her 
entrance  into  Duck  Creek  parish  church  on  the  Sun 
day  after  the  arrival  of  the  tobacco  ship,  arrayed  in 
imitation  of  the  Princess  of  Wales,  the  news  of  whose 
recent  widowhood  had  not  yet  reached  Judy  Browne. 

"  There  comes  the  Nancy  Jane  now,"  called  the 


THE  REDEMPTIONER,  33 

boy  from  the  dooryard,  pointing  to  a  sloop  on  the 
other  side  of  the  wide  estuary,  bowling  in  with  top 
sail  and  jib  furled,  and  her  rusty  mainsail  bellying 
under  pressure  of  a  wind  dead  aft. 

"That's  not  the  Nancy  Jane,"  said  the  father; 
"  only  a  sloop.  But  I  don't  know  whose.  Oh,  yes ; 
it  must  be  that  Yankee  peddler  back  again.  There's 
his  codfish  ensign  at  his  masthead.  He's  making  for 
the  other  side  now,  but  he'll  come  over  here  to  sell 
his  rum  and  kickshaws  before  lie  goes  out." 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Browne ! "  It  was  a  voice  coming 
from  the  river  in  front  of  the  house.  The  owner  of 
the  voice  was  concealed  by  some  bushes  at  the  mar 
gin  of  the  water. 

"  Hello!  "  answered  Brow^ne  to  the  invisible  caller. 
"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Wickford?  " 

"  I've  got  some  letters  for  you,  Mr.  Browne," 
came  back  from  the  water.  "  The  Nancy  Jane  ran 
in  on  the  east  wind  this  morning  before  daylight,  and 
anchored  in  the  little  oyster  bay  below  Manley's.  She 
brings  news  that  the  Prince  of  Wales  died  last  Spring. 
I  happened  to  come  past  there  this  morning,  and  I 
brought  some  things  Captain  Jackson  had  for  you.  I 
reckon  there's  something  pretty  here  for  Mrs.  Browne, 
too.  Send  one  of  your  boys  down." 

"  I'll  come  myself,"  said  Browne,  going  down  the 
bank,  followed  eagerly  by  the  little  Sanford,  who  had 
also  his  interest  in  the  arrival  of  the  parcels  from 


3±  DUFFELS. 

London.  There  came  after  them  presently  a  lithe 
young  negro  boy  of  fifteen,  not  yet  two  years  out  of 
Africa.  He  was  clad  in  nothing  but  his  native  black 
ness,  which  was  deemed  sufficient  for  a  half-grown 
negro  in  that  day.  Mrs.  Browne  had  sent  black 
Jocko  after  the  others  with  orders  to  bring  up  her 
things  "  without  waiting  for  the  gentlemen  to  get 
done  talking." 

But  the  gentlemen  did  not  talk  very  long.  The 
neighbor  was  desirous  of  getting  on  to  have  the  first 
telling  of  the  news  about  the  death  of  Prince  Freder 
ick,  and  Mr.  Browne  was  impatient  to  open  the  packet 
from  his  factor. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Wickford.  Come  down  and  see 
us  some  time,  and  bring  all  your  family,"  he  called 
as  the  neighbor's  canoe  shot  away  in  answer  to  the 
lusty  paddle  strokes  of  his  men. 

"  I  reckon  we'll  come,  sir,"  answered  the  reced 
ing  neighbor.  "My  wife'll  want  to  see  what  Mrs. 
Browne  got  from  London.  Tell  Mrs.  Browne  we're 
afraid  she'll  be  too  fine  to  know  her  neighbors  when 
she  puts  on  her  new  bonnet." 

The  last  words  of  this  neighborly  chafT  were 
shouted  over  a  wide  sheet  of  water,  and  Sanford 
Browne,  halfway  up  the  bank,  made  no  reply,  but 
went  back  to  his  chair  in  the  passage  and  opened  his 
packet.  Kid  that  he  had  been,  Browne  had  con 
trived  to  learn  to  read  and  write  from  a  convict 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  35 

bought  for  a  schoolmaster  by  the  planter  to  whom 
Browne  had  been  sold.  This  lettered  rogue  took 
pity  on  the  kidnaped  child,  and  gave  him  lessons 
on  nights  and  Sunday,  because  he  was  well  born  and 
not  willing  to  sink  to  the  condition  of  the  servants 
about  him. 

Browne  found  his  factor's  letter  occupied  at  the 
outset  with  an  account  of  the  tobacco  market  and 
congratulations  on  the  high  price  obtained  for  the 
last  year's  crop.  Then  the  factor  proceeded  to  give 
a  bill  of  sales,  and  then  a  list  of  things  purchased  for 
Browne  and  his  family,  with  the  price  set  down  for 
the  hoop  skirt  and  the  new  bonnet  and  the  silk  frock, 
as  well  as  for  a  cocked  hat  and  dress  periwig  neces 
sary  to  Sanford  Browne's  increasing  dignity,  and 
some  things  for  the  little  Sanford.  Browne  studied 
each  successive  page  of  the  letter  in  hope  of  finding 
a  word  on  the  subject  in  which  he  was  most  deeply 
interested,  stopping  reluctantly  now  and  then  to  look 
up  when  his  wife  would  break  in  with : 

"  Mr.  Browne !  Mr.  Browne !  won't  you  just  look 
this  way  a  minute  ?  Isn't  this  fine  ? " 

"  Yes,  Judy ;  it  surely  is,"  he  would  say  absently, 
keeping  his  thumb  on  the  place  in  the  factor's  letter, 
and  resuming  his  reading  as  soon  as  possible,  without 
having  any  definite  idea  of  what  Mrs.  Judith  had 
been  showing  him. 

On  the  very  last  page  he  found  these  words : 


36  DUFFELS. 

"  I  Lave  made  most  diligent  searche  for  your 
family  as  you  required  butt  I  have  not  discovered 
muche  that  will  be  to  your  satisfaction.  I  send  you, 
Sir,  a  coppie  of  certain  things  sette  down  in  the 
Parish  Register  of  St.  Clement  Danes,  wch  I  thoughte 
most  like  to  be  of  interest  to  you.  Bye  these  you 
will  discover  that  Walter  Sanford  Browne  was  born 
the  27  daye  of  the  moneth  of  Febuarie  1721 — wch 
will  no  doubt  give  you  exacte  knowledge  of  your 
owne  age.  The  father  and  mother  of  Walter  San- 
ford  Browne  bore  the  names  Walter  and  Susan  re 
spectively  wch  is  a  fact  that  will  not  be  indifferent  to 
you  I  suppose.  I  finde  that  Walter  Browne  aforesd, 
who  is  sette  down  a  scrivener,  was  married  at  this 
same  church  of  St.  Clements  on  the  22  daye  of 
Marche  in  the  year  1720  to  Anne  Sanford  of  the 
same  parish.  Theire  daughter  Susan  was  borne  in 
Aprill  1725,  as  you  will  see  by  this  transcripte  made 
by  the  clarke  of  the  parish.  The  clarke  cannot  dis 
cover  any  further  mencion  of  this  familie  nor  of  the 
name  of  Sanford  in  this  register  downe  to  this  pres 
ent  time,  from  wch  he  deems  it  is  to  be  inferred  that 
sd.  Walter  Browne  long  since  removed  out  of  that 
parish,  in  particular  as  the  present  wardens  and  sides 
men  of  the  parish  afresd  do  not  know  any  man  of 
that  name  now  residente  there.  It  is  a  probabilitie 
that  yr.  father  has  removed  to  one  of  the  plantations. 
I  have  made  public  advertisement  in  the  (iazettes  for 


THE  KEDEMPTIONER.  37 

your  father  or  any  neare  kinsman  but  w'out  any  suc- 
cesse  whatsoever." 

There  followed  a  memorandum  of  pounds,  shil 
lings,  and  pence  paid  to  the  "  clarke "  of  the  parish 
of  St.  Clement  Danes,  of  money  paid  for  advertise 
ments  in  the  gazettes,  and  of  expenses  incurred  in 
further  searches  made  by  a  solicitor.  That  was  all — 
the  end  of  hope  to  Sanford  Browne.  He  went  into 
the  sitting-room  and  put  the  factor's  letter  into  a 
little  clothespress  that  stood  beside  the  chimney,  and 
then  strode  out  into  the  air,  giving  no  heed  to  Judith, 
who  had  gone  up  the  stairs  at  the  side  of  the  passage, 
and  come  down  again  wearing  a  hideous  pannier 
petticoat  under  her  new  frock.  She  guessed  her  hus 
band's  disappointment,  and,  though  she  longed  for  a 
word  of  admiration,  or  at  least  of  wondering  atten 
tion,  for  her  square-rigged  petticoat,  she  thought  best 
to  be  content  with  the  excited  prattle  of  her  maid,  a 
young  bond-servant  bought  off  the  Nancy  Jane  the 
year  before. 

"  Here,  Jocko,"  said  Browne,  standing  in  front  of 
his  house  and  calling  to  the  Adamite  negro  lad,  "  you 
go  and  call  Bob,  and  get  the  sloop  ready.  I'm  going 
down  to  the  ship." 

"  Get  sloop,  massa  ? "  said  the  negro,  speaking 
English  with  difficulty.  "  Massa  say  sloop  ? " 

Sanford  Browne  looked  at  the  black  figure  in- 


38  DUFFELS. 

quiringly.  It  was  not  often  that  poor,  cringing 
Jocko  ventured  to  question  him.  "  Yes,  sloop,"  he 
said  with  an  emphasis  born  of  his  irritating  disap 
pointment. 

"  Much  great  big  wind  blow — blow  right  up 
river.  Tack,  tack,  all  day,"  muttered  the  black  boy 
timidly. 

"  You're  right,"  said  the  planter,  who  had  not  ob 
served  that  the  strong  wind  would  be  dead  ahead  all 
the  wray  to  the  anchorage.  "Tell  Bob  to  put  the 
canoe  in  the  water.'"'  And  then  to  himself :  "  The 
negro  is  no  fool." 

"  Bob,  Bob,  massa  him  want  can-noo  go  see  great 
big  ship  mighty  quick." 

"  Come,  Sanford ;  you  may  go  too,"  said  the 
planter  to  his  son.  "  We'll  carry  the  fowling  piece : 
there'll  be  ducks  on  the  water." 

SCENE    II. 

The  time  is  the  same  day,  and  the  place  the  deck 
of  the  Nancy  Jane,  at  anchor.  The  captain  is  giving 
orders  to  the  cook  :  "  I  want  a  good  bowl  of  bumbo 
set  here  on  deck  against  the  planters  come  aboard." 
Then  turning  to  the  mate :  "  Have  the  decks  squee 
geed  clean,  an'  everything  shipshape.  Put  the  rogues 
in  as  good  garb  as  you  can.  You'll  find  a  few  wigs 
in  a  box  in  my  cabin.  Put  these  on  the  likeliest,  and 
make  'em  say  they're  mechanics,  or  merchants'  clerks, 


THE  REDEMPTIOXER.  39 

and  housemaids.  Tell  'em  if  they  don't  put  out  a 
good  foot  and  get  off  our  hands  soon  we'll  tie  'em  up 
and  make  'em  understand  that  it's  better  to  lie  to  a 
planter  than  to  stick  on  shipboard  too  long.  Make 
the  women  clean  themselves  up  and  look  tidy  like 
ancient  housemaids,  and  don't  allow  any  nonsense. 
Tell  'em  if  they  swear  or  quarrel  while  the  planters 
are  aboard  they'll  get  a  cat-o'-nine-tails  well  laid  on. 
We've  got  to  make  'em  more  afraid  of  the  ship  than 
they  are  of  the  plantations." 

The  convicts  were  in  the  course  of  an  hour  or  two 
ranged  up  against  the  bulwarks  forward,  and  they 
were  with  much  effort  sufficiently  browbeaten  to 
bring  them  into  some  kind  of  order. 

"  They're  a  sorry  lot  of  Newgate  birds,"  said  the 
captain  to  the  mate.  "  I'm  afraid  we'll  have  a  time 
of  it  before  we  change  'em  off  for  merchantable  to 
bacco.  Here,  you  Gappy,"  he  said  to  one  of  the 
older  convicts.  "  Look  here !  Don't  you  tell  any 
body  to-day  that  you're  a  seaman.  They'll  swear  you 
are  a  pirate,  and  that  you'll  be  off  with  one  of  their 
country  sloops,  and  go  a-blackbearding  it  down  the 
coast.  You're  to  be  a  schoolmaster  to-day." 

"  I  can't  read  much,  and  I  can't  hardly  write  a 
word,"  said  the  man,  a  burly  fellow  of  about  sixty, 
whose  heavy  jaws  and  low  brows  would  look  brutal 
in  spite  of  the  brand-new  periwig  put  on  him  that 
very  morning  to  make  him  salable. 


40  DUFFELS. 

"  That  don't  matter,"  said  the  captain.  "  You're 
schoolmaster  enough  for  a  tobacco  country.  You 
can  navigate  a  ship  by  the  sun  and  compass,  and 
that's  education  enough.  If  you  go  and  let  it  out 
that  you're  a  sailor,  I'll — well,  you've  been  a  captain 
or  mate,  and  you  know  devilish  well  what  I'll  do  with 
you.  I'll  serve  you  as  you  have  served  many  a  poor 
devil  in  your  time." 

Then,  catching  sound  of  a  quarrel  between  two  of 
the  women,  the  captain  called  the  mate,  and  said : 
"  Give  both  of  the  wenches  a  touch  off  with  your 
rope's  end.  Don't  black  their  eyes  or  hit  'em  about 
the  face,  but  let  'em  just  taste  the  knot  once  over  the 
shoulders  to  keep  'em  peaceable.  Be  in  haste,  or 
they'll  scratch  one  another's  eyes." 

The  mate  proceeded  to  salute  the  two  women  with 
a  sharp  blow  apiece  of  the  knotted  rope,  and  thus 
changed  their  rising  fury  into  sullenness. 

Planters  came  and  went  during  the  forenoon,  and 
cross-questioned  the  convicts,  threatening  to  make  it 
hard  for  them  if  they  did  not  tell  the  truth.  The 
visitors  drank  the  captain's  bumbo,  but  the  convicts 
were  slow  of  sale.  Some  of  the  planters  announced 
their  intention  not  to  buy  any  more  convicts,  mean 
ing  for  the  future  to  purchase  only  freewillers,  or 
bond  servants  voluntarily  selling  themselves,  and  some 
had  made  up  their  minds  not  to  buy  any  more  Christian 
servants  at  all,  but  to  stock  their  places  with  blacks. 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  41 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  Sanford  Browne  ar 
rived  in  his  dugout,  propelled  against  a  head  wind 
and  heavy  seas  by  Bob,  the  white  redemptioner,  and 
Jocko,  the  negro  boy.  The  planter  himself  sat  astern 
steering,  with  little  Sanford  crouched  between  his 
knees.  Leaving  the  two  servants  in  the  canoe,  the 
planter  and  his  son  went  aboard  the  ship,  while  the 
convicts  crowded  against  the  guard  rail  to  get  a  look 
at  the  naked  figure  of  Jocko,  his  black  skin  being  a 
novel  sight  to  their  English  eyes. 

There  was  recognition  between  the  captain  of  the 
Nancy  Jane,  who  had  sailed  to  the  Potomac  for  many 
years,  and  Sanford  Browne.  While  the  two  stood  in 
conversation  by  the  bowl  of  strong  rum  punch,  little 
Sanford  strolled  about  the  deck,  shyly  scrutinizing  the 
faces  of  the  convicts  and  being  scrutinized  by  them. 
The  women  tried  to  talk  with  him,  but  their  rather 
battered  countenances  frightened  the  boy,  and  he 
slipped  away.  At  last  he  planted  himself  before  old 
Gappy,  whose  bronzed  face  under  a  new  powdered 
wig  produced  a  curious  effect. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  demanded  the 
child,  with  awakened  curiosity. 

The  would-be  schoolmaster  started  at  this  ques 
tion,  gazed  a  moment  at  the  child,  and  said,  "  God  ! " 
between  his  teeth. 

"  Lawr !  Vs  one  uv  yer  scholars,  Gappy,"  said 
one  of  the  women,  in  derision.  "  Ye'll  be  a-l'arnm' 


42  DUFFELS. 

'im  lots  uv  words  'e  ain't  never  'eerd  uv  afore.  Yer 
givin'  the  young  1111  a  prime  lesson  in  swearin'  to 
begin." 

But  Cappy  made  no  reply.  He  only  looked  more 
eagerly  at  the  child,  and  wiped  his  brow  with  his 
sleeve,  disarranging  his  periwig  in  doing  so.  Then, 
changing  the  form  of  his  exclamation  but  not  its 
meaning,  he  muttered,  "  The  devil !  " 

"  Watevcr's  the  matter  ? "  said  the  woman. 
"  You're  fetchin'  in  God  an'  the  devil  both.  Is  the 
young  un  one  uv  yer  long-lost  brothers,  Cappy  ? " 

"What's  your  name?"  demanded  Cappy  of  the 
boy,  without  heeding  the  woman's  gabble. 

"  Sanford  Browne." 

The  perspiration  stood  in  beads  on  the  man's  fore 
head,  and  the  veins  were  visibly  distended.  "  Looks 
like  as  if  he  hadn't  got  any  bigger  in  more'n  twenty 
years,"  he  soliloquized.  Then  he  said  to  the  boy  in 
an  eager  whisper,  for  his  voice  was  dry  and  husky, 
"  What's  yer  pappy's  name,  lad  ? " 

"  He's  Sanford  Browne,  too.  That's  him  a-talk- 
ing  to  Captain  Jackson  at  t'other  end  of  the  ship. 
He  was  stole  when  he  was  a  little  boy  by  a  mean  old 
captain,  and  brought  over  here  and  sold,  just  like  you 
folks,"  and  the  lad  made  the  remark  general  by  look 
ing  around  him.  "  He's  got  rich  now,  and  he's  got 
more'n  a  thousand  acres  of  land,"  said  the  little  San 
ford,  boastfully,  thinking  perhaps  that  his  father's 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  43 

success  might  encourage  the  woe-begone  set  before 
him.  "  But  I  reckon  that  mean  old  captain'll  ketch 
it  if  pappy  ever  sets  eyes  on  to  him,"  he  added. 

"  Lawr !  now  w'atever's  the  matter  uv  you, 
Gappy  ? "  put  in  the  woman  again.  "  A  body'd 
think  you  must  'a'  been  that  very  cap'n  yer  own 
self."  ' 

The  man  turned  fiercely  upon  the  garrulous  wo 
man  and  seized  her  throat  with  his  left  hand,  while  he 
threatened  her  with  a  clenched  fist  and  growled  like 
a  wild  beast.  "  Another  word  of  that,  Poll,  and  I'll 
knock  the  life  out  of  you." 

Poll  gave  a  little  shriek,  which  brought  the  mate 
on  the  scene  with  his  threatening  rope's  end,  and  re 
stored  Cappy  to  a  sort  of  self-control,  though  with  a 
strange  eagerness  of  terror  his  eyes  followed  the 
frightened  lad  as  he  retreated  toward  his  father. 

The  planter,  after  discussing  with  Captain  Jack 
son  the  death  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  in  the  preced 
ing  March,  was  explaining  to  the  captain  that  he 
did  not  mean  to  buy  any  more  white  servants.  The 
blacks  were  better,  and  were  good  property,  while 
the  black  children  added  to  a  planter's  estate.  White 
servants  gave  you  trouble,  and  in  four  or  seven  years 
at  most  their  time  expired,  and  you  had  to  break  in 
new  ones.  But  still,  if  he  could  pick  up  a  fellow  that 
would  know  how  to  sail  his  sloop  in  a  pinch,  he  might 
buy. 


44  DUFFELS. 

"  There's  one,  now,"  said  Captain  Jackson  ;  "  that 
chap  leaning  on  the  capstan ;  he's  been  a  captain,  I 
believe." 

"How'd  they  come  to  convict  a  captain?"  de 
manded  the  planter,  laughing.  "We  planters  have 
always  thought  that  all  captains  were  allowed  to  steal 
a  little." 

"  They  mustn't  steal  from  their  owners,"  said 
Captain  Jackson  good-naturedly.  "  Passengers  and 
shippers  we  do  clip  a  little  when  we  can,  but  that 
old  fool  must  have  tried  to  get  something  out  of  the 
owners  of  the  ship.  He's  too  old  to  run  away  now, 
or  cut  up  any  more  deviltry.  Go  and  talk  with  him." 

"  What's  his  bob-wig  for  ?" 

"Oh,  that's  some  of  my  mate's  nonsense.  He 
thought  planters  wouldn't  want  to  buy  a  seaman,  so 
he  rigged  the  old  captain  up  like  a  schoolmaster,  and 
told  him  to  say  that  he  had  always  taught  arithmetic. 
He'll  tell  you  he's  a  schoolmaster,  according  to  the 
mate's  commands ;  but  he  isn't.  lie's  been  a  ship's 
captain,  I  believe,  and  he  helped  me  take  observa 
tions  on  the  voyage,  and  he  seemed  to  know  the  river 
when  he  got  in  last  niglit/' 

There  ensued  some  talk  as  to  how  many  hogs 
heads  of  tobacco  the  convict  was  worth,  and  then 
Browne  went  forward  to  inspect  the  man  and  ques 
tion  him. 

"  What's  your  name  ? "  said  the  planter. 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  45 

"  James  Palmer,"  said  Cappy,  with  his  head  down. 

"  Lawr  !  "  muttered  Polly  under  her  breath. 

"What's  your  business?" 

"  Schoolmaster." 

"  Come,  don't  lie  to  me,"  said  Browne.  "  You 
are  a  sailor,  or  a  captain  maybe." 

This  set  the  old  fellow  to  trembling  visibly,  and 
Polly  again  said  "  Lawr ! "  loud  enough  for  him  to 
hear  it  and  give  her  one  fierce  glance  that  quieted 
her. 

"  Who  said  I  was  a  sailor,  sir  ? " 

"  Captain  Jackson." 

"  That's  because  you  want  a  sailor,"  stammered 
the  convict.  "  Mighty  little  I  ever  knew  about  a  ship 
till  I  got  aboard  this  thing.  Captain  would  'a'  told 
you  I  was  a  carpenter  or  a  preacher  if  he  thought 
that  was  what  you  wanted." 

The  man  spoke  gaspingly,  and  a  dim  sense  of 
having  known  him  began  to  make  its  way  into  the 
mind  of  the  planter.  He  was  going  to  ask  him 
where  he  had  taught  school,  but  all  at  once  a  rush  of 
memories  crowded  his  mind,  and  a  strange  suspicion 
came  to  him.  He  stood  silent  and  staring  at  the  con 
vict  half  a  minute.  Then  he  walked  round  him,  ex 
amining  him  from  this  side  and  that. 

"  Let  me  see  your  left  hand,  you  villain  ! "  he  mut 
tered,  approaching  the  man. 

The  convict  had  kept  his  left  hand  shoved  down 


46  DUFFELS. 

under  his  belt.  He  shook  now  as  with  an  ague,  and 
made  no  motion. 

"  Out  with  it ! "  cried  the  planter. 

Slowly  the  old  man  drew  out  his  hand,  showing 
that  one  joint  of  the  little  finger  was  gone. 

"  You  liar ! "  said  the  planter,  at  the  same  time 
pulling  the  bob-wig  from  the  convict's  head,  and 
flinging  it  on  the  deck.  "  Your  name  is  not  James 
Palmer,  but  Jim  Lewis,  Captain  Jim  Lewis  of  the 
Ked  Rose — '  Black  Jim,'  as  everybody  called  you 
behind  your  back !  " 

Here  Poll  broke  out  again  with  "  Lawr ! "  while 
Sanford  Browne  paused,  fairly  choked  with  emotion. 
Then  he  began  again  in  a  low  voice : 

"  You  thought  I  wouldn't  know  you.  I've  been 
watching  out  for  you  these  ten  years,  to  send  you  to 
hell  with  my  own  hands!  You  robbed  my  poor 
mother  of  her  boy."  The  wretch  cowered  beneath 
the  planter's  gaze,  and  essayed  to  deny  his  identity, 
but  his  voice  died  in  his  throat.  Browne  at  length 
turned  on  his  heel,  and  strode  rapidly  toward  the 
captain. 

"  I'll  take  him  at  the  price  you  fixed,"  he  called 
out  as  he  advanced. 

The  captain  wondered  what  gold  mine  Browne 
had  discovered  in  Gappy  to  make  him  so  eager  to 
accept  the  first  price  named,  lie  for  his  part  was 
equally  eager  to  be  rid  of  a  convict  whom  he  re- 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  47 

garded  as  rather  a  dangerous  man,  so  lie  said  prompt 
ly,  "  He  belongs  to  you,"  and  shook  hands  according 
to  the  custom  in  "  closing  a  bargain." 

A  moment  later  Black  Jim  Lewis,  having  re 
gained  his  wits,  rushed  up  to  the  captain  entreating 
hoarsely  not  to  be  sold  to  Browne.  "  Now,  don't  let 
him  have  me,  Captain  Jackson  ;  for  God's  sake,  don't, 
now !  He's  my  enemy.  He'll  beat  me  and  starve  me 
to  death.  I'm  one  of  your  own  kind ;  I'm  a  sea  cap 
tain,  and  it's  a  shame  for  you,  a  sea  captain  too,  to  sell 
me  to  a  man  that  hates  me  and  only  wants  to  make 
me  miserable.  I'm  ruinated  anyhow,  and  you  ought 
to  take  some  pity  on  me." 

This  plea  for  a  freemasonry  among  sea  captains 
had  influence  with  the  captain  of  the  Nancy  Jane. 
But  he  said,  "  W'y,  Jim  Lewis,  I've  sold  to  you  the 
best  master  in  the  province  of  Maryland.  You  don't 
know  when  you're  well  off.  Mr.  Browne  feeds  his 
people  well,  and  he  never  beats  'em  bad,  like  the  rest." 

"  I  tell  you,  he'll  flay  me  alive,  that  man  will ! 
You'd  better  shoot  me  dead  and  put  me  out  of 
misery." 

While  the  wretch  was  making  this  appeal,  Browne 
was  silently  engaged  in  emptying  the  priming  of  his 
flintlock  fowling  piece,  picking  open  the  tube,  and 
then  filling  the  pan  with  fresh  powder  from  the  horn 
at  his  side.  When  he  had  closed  the  pan,  he  struck 
the  stock  of  the  gun  one  or  two  blows  to  shake  the 


48  DUFFELS. 

powder  well  down  into  place,  that  the  gun  might  not 
miss  fire.  Then  turning  to  the  captain,  he  said,  "  A 
bargain  is  a  bargain." 

Then  to  the  convict  he  said :  "  Black  Jim  Lewis, 
you  belong  to  me.  Get  into  that  boat,  or  it'll  be 
worse  for  you,"  and  he  slowly  raised  the  snaphance 
with  his  thumb  on  the  hammer. 

Lewis  had  aged  visibly  in  ten  minutes.  With 
trembling  steps  he  walked  to  the  ship's  side,  and 
clambered  over  the  bulwarks  into  the  dugout.  The 
boy  followed,  and  then  the  master  took  his  seat  in  the 
stern,  with  his  flintlock  fowling  piece  within  reach. 

"  My  dead  body'll  float  down  here  past  the  Nancy 
Jane,"  said  Jim  Lewis  to  the  captain  ;  "  and  I'll  ha'nt 
your  ship  forever  —  see  if  I  don't!"  He  half  rose 
and  waved  his  hand  threateningly  as  he  said  this  in 
a  hoarse,  sepulchral  voice. 

"  Mr.  Browne,"  interposed  the  captain  of  the 
Nancy  Jane,  as  the  lifted  canoe  paddles  were  ready 
to  dip  into  the  water,  "  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  old 
captain.  You  see  how  old  and  shaken  he  is.  You'll 
show  moderation,  now,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  care  for  him,"  answered  Browne  unbend 
ingly.  "  Away  with  the  canoe  !  Good-by.  captain. 
My  tobacco  will  be  ready  for  you." 

And  Poll,  the  convict,  as  she  leaned  over  the  rail 
and  watched  the  fast-receding  canoe  pitching  up  and 
down  on  the  seas,  said,  "  Lawr  !  " 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  49 

SCENE    III. 

Tlie  time  is  the  late  afternoon  of  the  same  day, 
and  the  place  is  again  Sanf ord  Browne's  plantation.  * 

Judith  Browne,  having  exhausted  her  experi 
ments  on  the  frock,  the  bonnet,  and  the  hoop  petti 
coat  bought  for  her  in  London  and  sent  like  the  pro 
verbial  pig  in  a  poke,  had  taken  to  watching  the  Yan 
kee  peddling  sloop,  which,  having  lain  for  an  hour  at 
Patterson's  on  the  Virginia  shore,  was  now  heading 
for  the  Browne  place.  It  was  pretty  to  see  the  sloop 
heel  over  under  a  beam  wind  and  shoot  steadily  for 
ward,  while  the  waves  dashed  fair  against  her  weather 
side  and  splashed  the  water  from  time  to  time  to  the 
top  of  her  free  board.  It  was  a  pleasant  sight  to 
mark  her  approach  by  the  gradual  increase  in  her 
size  and  the  growing  distinctness  with  which  the  de 
tails  of  her  rigging  could  be  made  out.  At  length, 
when  her  bow  appeared  to  Judith  Browne  to  be  driv 
ing  so  straight  on  the  bank  that  nothing  could  pre 
vent  the  vessel's  going  ashore  Captain  Perkins  called 
to  his  only  man,  standing  at  the  helm,  "  Hard  down ! " 
and  the  sloop  swung  her  nose  into  the  waves,  and 
gracefully  rounded  head  into  the  wind  just  in  time  to 
lie  close  under  the  bank,  rocking  fore  and  aft  like  a 
duck.  As  soon  as  she  had  swung  into  the  wind 
enough  for  her  sail  to  flap,  the  captain  called  to  the 
boy  who  was  the  third  member  of  the  crew  to  let  go 


50  DUFFELS. 

the  halyards;  and  as  the  sail  ran  rattling  down,  the 
captain  heaved  the  anchor  at  the  bow  with  his  own 
hands.  Then  a  plank  was  run  out,  a  line  made  fast 
forward,  and  Perkins  climbed  the  bank  and  greeted 
Mrs.  Browne.  His  manner  combined  strangely  the 
heartiness  of  the  seaman  with  the  sinuous  deference 
of  the  peddler.  His  speech  was  that  which  one  hears 
only  in  the  most  up-country  New  England  regions 
and  among  London  small  shopkeepers.  The  uttering 
of  his  vowel  sounds  taper  end  first  greatly  amused 
his  customers  in  the  Chesapeake  regions,  while  their 
abrupt  clipping  of  both  vowels  and  liquids  was 
equally  curious  to  Perkins,  who  regarded  all  people 
outside  of  New  England  as  natives  to  be  treated  with 
condescending  kindness  alike  for  Christian  and  for 
business  reasons,  and  as  people  who  were  even  liable 
to  surprise  him  by  the  possession  of  some  rudimen 
tary  virtues  in  spite  of  their  unlucky  outlandishness. 

"Glad  to  see  yeh  again,  Mis'  Braown,"  he  said 
when  he  reached  the  top  of  the  bank.  "  Where's 
Mr.  Braown  ( " 

"  He's  gone  down  to  the  Nancy  Jane.  "Won't  you 
come  in,  Captain  Perkins?  Come  in  and  sit  down 
a  while." 

"  Wai,  yes.  And  how's  your  little  gal  ?  "  Seeing 
a  dubious  look  on  Mrs.  Browne's  face,  he  said  :  "  Or 
is  it  a  boy,  now  ?  I  call  at  so  many  houses  I  git  con 
fused.  Fine  child,  I  remember." 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  51 

"  The  lad's  gone  off  with  his  father,"  said  Judith, 
giving  Perkins  a  seat  in  the  passage. 

After  more  preliminary  talk  the  peddler  got  to 
his  main  point,  that  he  had  lots  of  nice  notions  and 
things  this  year  cheaper'n  they  could  be  had  in  Lon 
don.  All  the  folks  agreed  that  his  things  were 
"  cheaper,  considerin'  quality,  Mis'  Braown,  than  you 
could  git  'em  in  London." 

Judith  knew  by  experience  that  his  things  were 
neither  very  good  nor  very  cheap,  but  her  only 
chance  in  life  to  know  anything  of  the  delights  of 
shopping  lay  in  the  coming  of  peddling  sloops.  One 
might  order  a  frock,  a  bonnet,  or  a  petticoat  from 
London,  but  one  must  wait  nearly  a  year  till  the  to 
bacco  ship  returned  to  get  what  had  been  sent  for. 
It  was  better  to  be  cheated  a  little  in  order  to  get  the 
pleasure  of  making  up  her  mind  and  then  changing 
it,  of  fancying  herself  possessor  now  of  this  and  now 
of  that,  and  finally  getting  what  she  liked  best  after 
having  had  the  usufruct  of  the  whole  stock.  She  was 
soon  examining  the  goods  that  Perkins's  boy  had 
brought  up  to  her  —  fancy  things  for  herself  and 
young  Sanford,  and  coarse  cloth  for  her  servants. 
She  concluded  nothing  about  staple  trading  till  her 
husband  should  return ;  for  prices  were  to  be  fixed 
on  the  corn  and  bacon  which  must  be  paid  in  ex 
change.  But  there  were  articles  that  she  craved,  and 
of  which  she  preferred  not  to  speak  to  her  husband, 


52  DUFFELS. 

for  a  while  at  least,  and  these  she  paid  for  from  her 
little  hoard  of  pieces  of  eight,  or  Spanish  dollars. 
The  change  she  made  in  fractions  of  these  coins  — 
actual  quarters  of  dollars  cut  like  pieces  of  pie. 
These  were  tested  in  Perkins's  little  money  scales. 
Less  than  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  was  usually  disregarded 
in  the  South ;  and  as  for  Perkins,  he  never  seemed  to 
have  any  fractional  silver  to  give  back  in  change,  but 
always  proposed  some  little  article  that  he  would  put 
in  at  cost  just  to  fill  up  to  the  value  of  a  piece  of  eight. 

Paddling  with  the  wind,  Sanford  Browne's  cedar 
canoe  made  good  speed,  and  as  the  sun  was  setting 
and  the  wind  falling  it  glided  past  the  Yankee  sloop 
into  shoal  water  farther  up,  where  its  inmates  disem 
barked,  and  beached  their  craft. 

Sanford  Browne  walked  rapidly  up  the  bank,  fol 
lowed  by  his  son,  the  servants,  and  the  old  convict. 
He  approached  Perkins  and  greeted  him,  but  in  a 
manner  not  cordial  and  hardly  courteous.  He  looked 
at  Judith  so  severely  that  she  fancied  him  offended 
with  her.  She  reflected  quickly  that  he  could  not 
have  known  anything  of  her  surreptitious  trading 
with  the  peddler.  Uriah  Perkins  concluded  that  a 
storm  was  brewing  between  husband  and  wife,  and 
found  it  necessary  to  return  to  the  sloop  to  make  her 
fast  astern,  against  the  turn  of  the  tide  and  the  veer 
ing  of  the  wind. 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  53 

When  Perkins  had  disappeared,  Sanford  Browne 
pointed  to  the  convict  and  said  slowly  and  with  fierce 
ness  : 

"  Judy,  that's  the  man.  That's  Black  Jim  LewTis, 
that  stole  me  away  from  home  and  sold  me  for  a  re- 
demptioner.  Jocko,  go  fetch  the  manacles." 

Judith  stood  speechless.  It  was  a  guiding  maxim 
with  her  that  women  should  not  meddle  with  men's 
business,  and  it  was  an  article  of  faith  that  whatever 
her  husband  did  was  right.  She  sympathized  with 
his  resentment  against  the  man  who  had  kidnaped 
him.  But  the  sight  of  the  terror-stricken  face  of 
the  cowardly  brute  smote  her  woman's  heart  with 
pity  as  the  manacles  were  put  on  the  convict's 
wrists. 

"  See  that  he  doesn't  get  away,"  said  Browne  to 
Bob. 

"  He  can't  pound  his  corn  with  them  things,"  said 
Bob,  pointing  to  the  handcuffs.  ;'  Shall  I  get  him 
some  meal  ? " 

"  Not  to-night,"  said  Browne.  "  He  didn't  give 
me  a  crust  to  eat  the  first  night  I  was  on  ship.  Turn 
about's  fair  play,  Captain  Lewis.  Take  him  to  the 
quarters." 

When  the  convict  found  himself  manacled,  his 
terror  increased.  He  pulled  away  from  Bob  and  ap 
proached  Browne. 

"  Let  me  speak  a  word,  master,"  he  began  tremu- 


54  DUFFELS. 

lously.  "  I'm  all  broke  up  and  ruinated,  anyhow.  I 
know  the  devil  must  'a'  been  in  me  the  day  I  took 
you  away.  I've  thought  of  it  many  a  time,  and  I've 
said,  '  Jim  Lewis,  something  dreadful  '11  come  to  you 
for  stealin'  a  good  little  boy  that  way.' r  Here  he 
paused.  Then  he  resumed  in  a  still  more  broken 
voice  :  "  When  I  was  put  on  to  a  transport  to  come 
to  this  country  I  remembered  you,  and  I  says,  4  That's 
what's  come  of  it.'  Soon  as  I  saw  that  little  fellow, 
the  very  picture  of  you  the  day  when  I  coaxed  you 
away,  I  says  to  myself,  '  O  my  God,  I'm  done  fer 
now!  I'm  ruinated  for  a  fact;  I  might  as  well  be  in 
hell  as  in  Maryland.'  But,  master,  if  you'll  only  have 
just  a  little  pity  on  an  old  man  that's  all  broke  up 
and  ruinated,  I'll — I'll — be  a  good  servant  to  you.  I 
promise  you,  afore  Almighty  God.  Don't  you  go  and 
be  too  hard  on  a  poor  ruinated  old  man.  I'm  old — 
seems  to  me  I'm  ten  year  older  than  I  wuz  afore  I  saw 
you  this  mornin'.  I  know  you  hate  me.  You've  got 
strong  reasons  to  hate  me.  I  hate  myself,  and  I  keep 
say  in'  to  myself,  says  I,  *  Jim  Lewis,  what  an  old  devil 
you  are ! '  But  please,  master,  if  you  won't  be  too 
hard  on  me,  I  think  I'll  be  better.  I  can't  live  long 
nohow.  But — 

"  There,  that'll  do,"  said  Browne. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Browne,"  interposed  Judy. 

"Lewis,  do  you  remember  when  you  woolded  a 
sailor'.-  head  T'  demanded  the  planter. 


THE  RBDBMPTIONBS.  55 

"  I  don't  know,  master.  I  have  done  lots  of  things 
a  little  hard.  Sailors  are  a  hard  lot." 

"  If  you'd  had  pity  on  that  poor  sailor  when  he 
begged  for  mercy,  I'd  have  pity  on  you  to-night 
But  I  cried  over  that  sailor  that  you  wouldn't  have 
mercy  on,  and  now  I  can't  pity  you  a  bit.  You've  made 
your  own  bed.  Your  turn  has  come." 

Saying  this,  Sanford  Browne  \vent  into  the  house, 
while  the  old  sea  captain  followed  Bob  in  a  half -palsied 
way  round  the  south  end  of  the  house  toward  the 
servants'  quarters,  muttering,  "  Well,  now,  Jim  Lewis, 
you're  done  fer." 

"  Mr.  Browne,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that 
old  man  ? "  asked  Judy,  with  more  energy  than  she 
usually  showed  in  speaking  to  her  husband. 

"  I  don't  know,  Judy.  Something  awful,  I  reck 
on."  Browne  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  any  dis 
tinct  act  of  cruelty  beyond  sending  the  convict  sup- 
perless  to  bed. 

"  I  don't  like  you  to  be  so  hard  on  an  old  man.  1 
know  he's  bad — as  bad  as  can  be,  but  that's  no  reason 
why  you  should  be  bad." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  bad,  Judy.  Just  think  how  he 
sold  me,  like  Joseph,  away  from  my  family  ! " 

"  But  Joseph  wasn't  really  very  unkind  to  his 
brothers,  Mr.  Browne  ;  and  you  won't  be  too  hard  on 
the  poor  old  wretch,  now  will  you  ? " 

"Judy,  I  mean   to   make   him   suffer.     When  I 


56  DUFFELS. 

think  of  my  mother,  and  all  she  must  have  suffered,  I 
haven't  a  drop  of  pity  in  me.  He's  got  to  suffer  for 
his  crimes  now.  That's  what  he  was  thrown  into  my 
hands  for,  I  reckon,  Judy." 

"Then  you  won't  be  the  man  you  have  been. 
Time  and  again  you've  bought  some  poor  kid  from  a 
hard  master  like  old  Hoak,  to  save  him  from  suffer 
ing.  Now  you'll  get  to  be  hard  and  hateful  like  old 
Hoak  yourself." 

"  Judy,  remember  my  mother." 

"  Do  you  think  your  mother,  if  she  is  alive,  would 
like  to  think  of  your  standing  over  that  old  wretch 
while  he  was  whipped  and  whipped  and  washed  with 
salt  water,  maybe?  If  your  mother  has  lived,  she 
has  been  kept  alive  just  by  thinking  what  a  good 
b°y  Jou  were  ;  and  she  says  to  herself,  l  My  Sanford 
wouldn't  hurt  anything.  If  he  was  run  off  to  the 
plantations,  he  has  grown  to  be  the  best  man  in  all 
the  country.'  Do  you  think  she'd  like  to  have  you 
turn  a  kind  of  public  whipper  or  hangman  for  her 
sake?" 

Browne  looked  at  his  wife  in  surprise.  Her  eyes 
flashed  as  she  spoke,  and  the  little  womanly  body, 
whose  highest  flight  had  seemed  to  end  in  a  London 
frock  and  petticoat,  had  suddenly  become  something 
much  more  than  he  had  fancied  possible  to  her.  She 
had  taken  the  first  place,  and  he  felt  himself  over 
shadowed.  He  looked  up  at  her  with  a  sort  of  revcr- 


THE  REDEMPT10NER.  57 

ence,  but  he  held  stubbornly  to  a  purpose  that  had 
been  ossifjdng  for  twenty  years. 

"  That's  all  well  enough  for  a  woman,  Judy.  But 
you  know  that  any  other  man  would  do  just  what  I 
am  going  to  do,  under  the  same  circumstances.  I 
don't  like  to  do  what  you  don't  want  me  to  do,  but  I 
sha'n't  let  old  Lewis  off.  I  reckon  he'll  find  my  hand 
hard  on  him  as  long  as  he  holds  out.  Any  other  man 
would  do  just  the  same,  Judy." 

Judith  Browne  stood  still  and  looked  at  her  hus 
band  in  silence.  Then  she  spoke  in  a  repressed 
voice  : 

"Sanford  Browne,  what  do  you  talk  to  me  that 
way  for?  Any  other  man  might  worry  this  old 
wretch  out  of  his  life,  but  you  won't  do  it.  What 
did  I  marry  you  for  ?  Why  did  I  leave  my  father's 
house  to  take  you,  a  poor  redemptioner  just  out  of 
your  time?  It  was  because  you  weren't  like  other 
men.  I  knew  you  were  kind  and  good-hearted  when 
other  men  were  cruel  and  unfeeling.  From  that  day 
to  this  you  have  never  made  me  sorry  that  I  left 
home  and  turned  my  father  against  me.  But  if  you 
do  this  thing  you  have  in  mind  to  a  poor  old  wretch 
that  can't  help  himself,  then  you  won't  be  Sanford 
Browne  any  more.  You'll  have  that  old  man's  blood 
on  your  hands,  and  Judy  will  never  get  over  being 
sorry  that  she  left  her  friends  to  go  with  you."  The 

woman's  voice  had   broken  as  she  spoke  these  last 
5 


58  DUFFELS. 

words,  and  now  she  broke  down  completely,  and 
sobbed  a  little. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Judy  ? "  said  her  husband  soft 
ly.  "  God  knows,  if  I  keep  him  in  sight  I  shall  kill 
him  some  day." 

"  Sell  him.  Sell  him  right  off.  There's  Captain 
Perkins  coming  up  the  bank  now." 

"  You  sell  him,  Judy.  Perkins  has  things  you 
want.  I  give  Lewis  to  you.  Make  any  trade  you 
please."  Then,  as  his  wife  moved  away,  he  followed 
her,  and  said  in  a  smothered  voice :  "  Sell  him  quick, 
Judy.  Don't  stand  on  the  price.  Get  him  out  of 
sight  before  I  kill  him." 

Judith  went  out  to  meet  the  peddling  captain, 
who  was  now  strolling  toward  the  house  in  hope  of 
an  invitation  to  supper,  knowing  that  Mrs.  Browne's 
biscuit  and  fried  chicken  were  better  than  the  salt 
pork  and  hoecake  cooked  by  the  boy  on  the  sloop. 
The  wind  had  fallen,  and  the  water  view  was  growing 
dim  in  the  gloaming.  Judith  explained  to  the  ped 
dler  that  the  convict  her  hu>l>and  had  bought  proved 
to  be  an  old  enemy  of  his.  She  stammered  a  little  in 
her  endeavor  not  to  betray  the  real  reasons  for  selling 
him,  and  Perkins,  who  was  proud  of  his  own  piMu-t  ra 
tion,  inferred  that  Browne  was  afraid  of  his  life  if  he 
should  keep  the  new  servant.  He  saw  in  this  an 
unexpected  chance  for  profit.  When  Mrs.  Browne 
offered  to  sell  him  if  Perkins  would  take  him  to  the 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  59 

eastern  shore  or  some  other  place  away  off,  he  said 
that  servants  wuz  a  thing  he  didn't  deal  in — a  leetle 
dangerous  at  sea  where  the  crew  wuz  so  small  as  his. 
Hard  to  sell  an  old  fellow ;  the  planters  wanted  young 
men.  But  he  wanted  to  accommodate,  you  know,  an' 
seeiri'  as  how  Mis'  Braown  had  been  a  good  customer, 
he  would  do  what  he  could.  He  would  have  to  make 
a  run  over  to  the  eastern  shore  perticular  to  sell  this 
man.  Folks  on  the  eastern  shore  didn't  buy  much. 
Hadn't  sold  'em  a  hat,  for  instance.  They  all  wore 
white  cotton  caps,  men  an'  women  ;  an'  they  made 
the  caps  themselves  out  of  cotton  of  their  own  raisin'. 
But,  as  he  wuz  a-sayin',  Mis'  Braown  had  been  a  good 
customer,  an'  he  wanted  to  accommodate.  But  he'd 
have  to  put  the  price  low  enough  so  as  he  wouldn't 
be  poorer  by  the  trade.  Thus  he  faced  about  on  his 
disjunctive  conjunction,  now  this  way,  now  that,  until 
he  had  time  to  consider  what  was  the  very  lowest 
figure  he  could  offer  as  a  basis  for  his  higgling.  He 
couldn't  offer  much,  but  he  would  give  a  price  which 
he  named  in  pieces  of  eight,  stipulating  that  he  should 
pay  it  in  goods.  He  saw  in  this  a  chance  for  elastic 
profits  in  both  directions. 

Judith  hardly  gave  a  thought  to  the  price  he 
named  ;  but  as  soon  as  she  perceived  that  he  had  dis 
entangled  himself  from  his  higgling  preamble  so  far 
as  to  offer  a  definite  sum,  she  accepted  it. 

This  lack  of  hesitation  on  her  part  disconcerted 


60  DUFFELS. 

the  peddler,  who  had  a  feeling  that  a  bargain  made 
without  preliminary  chaffering  had  not  been  properly 
solemnized.  He  was  suspicious  now  that  he  was  the 
victim  of  some  design. 

"  That  is  to  say,  Mis'  Braown,  I  only  dew  this  to 
accommodate  ole  friends.  It  ain't  preudent  to  make 
such  a  trade  in  the  dark.  I'll  dew  it  if  I  find  the 
man  sound  in  wind  and  limb,  and  all  satisfactory, 
when  I  come  to  look  him  over." 

"  Of  course  that's  what  I  mean,"  said  Judith. 
"  Now  come  in  and  take  supper  with  us,  captain," 
she  continued,  her  voice  still  in  a  quiver  with  recent 
emotions. 

"  Well,  I  don't  keer  if  I  dew,  jest  fer  to  bind  the 
bargain,  you  knaow.  I  told  the  boy  I'd  be  back,  but 
I  reckon  they  won't  wait  long.  Ship  folks  don't  wait 
much  on  nobody." 

Judith  turned  toward  the  house,  followed  by  the 
peddler.  Sanford  Browne  was  still  sitting  in  the  en 
try  just  as  Judith  had  left  him,  surprised  and  in  a 
sense  paralyzed  by  the  sudden  and  effective  opposi 
tion  which  his  wife  had  offered  to  the  gratification  of 
his  only  grudge. 

"  Mr.  Browne ! "  called  Judith,  almost  hysterical 
ly,  her  tense  nerves  suddenly  shaken  again.  "  What's 
that  ?  Something's  happened  down  at  the  quarters." 

Looking  through  the  wide  passage  into  the  dim 
twilight  beyond,  she  could  see  running  figures  like 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  61 

shadows  approaching  the  house.  Sanford  Browne 
rose  at  his  wife's  summons  in  time  to  meet  the  con 
vict  Lewis,  still  manacled,  as  he  rushed  into  the  pas 
sage  at  the  back  of  the  house  and  dashed  out  again  at 
the  front.  Browne  attempted  to  arrest  his  flight,  cry 
ing  out,  as  he  made  an  effort  to  seize  him,  "  Stop,  you 
old  villain,  or  I'll  kill  you  !  "  But  the  momentum  of 
the  flying  figure  rendered  Browne's  grasp  ineffectual, 
and  in  a  moment  he  was  out  of  doors,  just  as  Bob  and 
Jocko  and  the  other  servants  entered  the  passage  in  a 
pell-mell  pursuit. 

As  the  running  man  emerged  from  the  darkness 
of  the  passage,  Perkins,  thinking  his  profit  in  jeop 
ardy,  threw  himself  athwart  his  path,  and  cried : 
"  Here !  Where  be  you  a-goin'  so  fast  with  them 
things  on  your  wrist  ? " 

"  To  hell  and  damnation  !  "  yelled  Lewis,  striking 
the  peddler  fair  in  the  breast  with  both  manacled 
hands,  and  sending  him  rolling  on  the  ground. 

The  convict  did  not  pause  a  moment  in  his  flight, 
but,  with  the  whole  pack  in  full  cry  after  him,  dashed 
onward  to  the  bank  and  down  it.  Before  any  of  his 
pursuers  could  lay  hands  on  him  he  was  aboard  the 
sloop. 

"  Ketch  him  !  Ketch  him  !  "  cried  Captain  Per 
kins,  once  more  on  his  feet,  and  giving  orders  from 
the  top  of  the  bank. 

The  cabin  boy  had  just  emerged  from  the  cabin  to 


02  DUFFELS. 

call  the  man  to  supper.  lie  and  the  sailor  tried  hard 
to  seize  the  fleeing  man,  but  Captain  Lewis  swerved 
to  one  side  and  ran  round  the  gunwale  of  the  sloop 
with  both  men  after  him.  "When  he  reached  the 
stern  he  leaped  beyond  their  reach,  and  plunged  head 
first  into  the  water,  sinking  out  of  sight  where  the 
fast-ebbing  tide  was  now  gurgling  round  the  rudder. 

In  vain  the  boy  and  the  sailorman  looked  with  all 
their  might  at  the  place  where  he  had  gone  down  ;  in 
vain  they  poked  a  long  pole  into  the  water  after  him  ; 
in  vain  did  Bob  and  Jocko  paddle  in  the  canoe  all 
over  the  place  where  Black  Jim  Lewis  had  sunk. 

Perkins  took  the  precaution,  before  descending  the 
bank,  to  say :  "  You'll  remember,  Mis'  Braown,  that  I 
only  bought  him  on  conditions,  and  stipple-lated  I 
wuz  to  be  satisfied  when  I  come  to  look  him  over. 
'Tain't  no  loss  of  mine."  This  caveat  duly  lodged,  he 
descended  to  the  deck  of  his  sloop,  where  he  found 
the  cabin  boy  shaking  as  with  an  ague. 

"  "What  be  you  a-trimblin'  abaout,  naow  ?  Got  a 
fever  V  agur  a'ready?  Y'  ain't  afeard  of  a  dead 
man,  be  yeh,  Elkanah  ? " 

"I  don't  noways  like  the  idear,"  said  Elkanah, 
"of  sleepin'  aboard,  an'  him  dead  thar  by  his  own 
will,  a-layin'  closte  up  to  the  sloop." 

"  lie  ain't  nowher's  nigh  the  sloop,"  responded 
Perkins.  "This  ebb-tide's  got  him  in  tow.  an'  he'll 
be  down  layin'  ag'in'  the  Nancy  Jane  afore  mornin\ 


THE  REDEMPTIONER.  63 

That's  the  ship  he'll  ha'nt,  bein'  kind  uv  used  to 
her." 

Browne  had  remained  standing  at  the  top  of  the 
bank,  without  saying  a  single  word.  He  turned  at 
last,  and  started  slowly  toward  the  house.  Judith, 
forgetting  her  invitation  to  the  peddler,  went  after 
her  husband  and  took  his  hand. 

"  I'm  so  glad  he's  dead,"  said  she.  "  I  know  the 
cruel  man  deserved  his  fate.  He'll  be  off  your  mind, 
now,  dear ;  and  nobody  can  say  you  did  it." 


A  BASEMENT  STORY. 


IT  was  one  of  those  obscure  days  found  only  on 
the  banks  of  Newfoundland.  There  was  no  sun,  and 
yet  no  visible  cloud  ;  there  was  nothing,  indeed,  to 
test  the  vision  by  ;  there  was  no  apparent  fog,  but 
sight  was  soon  lost  in  a  hazy  indefiuiteness.  Near 
objects  stood  out  with  a  distinctness  almost  startling. 
The  swells  ran  high  without  sufficient  provocation 
from  the  present  wind,  and  attention  was  absorbed  by 
the  tremendous  pitching  of  the  steamer's  bow,  the 
wide  arc  described  by  the  mainmast  against  no  back 
ground  at  all,  and  by  the  smoky  and  bellying  main 
sail,  kept  spread  to  hold  the  vessel  to  some  sort  of 
steadiness  in  the  waves.  There  was  no  storm,  nor 
any  dread  of  a  storm,  and  the  few  passengers  who 
were  not  seasick  in  stateroom  bunks  below,  or 
stretched  in  numb  passivity  on  the  sofas  in  the  music 
saloon,  were  watching  the  rough  sea  with  a  cheerful 
excitement.  In  the  total  absence  of  sky  and  the  en 
tire  abolition  of  horizon  the  eye  rejoiced,  like  Noah's 
dove,  to  find  some  place  of  r.-'st  ;  and  the  main-ail, 
smoky  like  the  air,  but  cutting  the  smoky  air  with  a 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  65 

sharp  plane,  was  such  a  resting  place  for  the  vision. 
This  sail  and  the  reeky  smokestack  beyond,  and  the 
great  near  billows  that  emerged  from  time  to  time  out 
of  the  gray  obscurity  —  these  seemed  to  save  the  uni 
verse  from  chaos.  On  such  a  day  the  imagination  is 
released  from  bounds,  individuality  is  lost,  and  space 
becomes  absolute  —  the  soul  touches  the  poles  of  the 
infinite  and  the  unconditioned. 

I  do  not  pretend  that  such  emotions  filled  the 
breasts  of  all  the  twenty  passengers  on  deck  that  day. 
One  man  was  a  little  seasick,  and  after  every  great 
rushing  plunge  of  the  steamer  from  a  billow  summit 
into  a  sea  valley  he  vented  his  irritation  by  wishing 
that  he  had  there  some  of  the  poets  that  —  here  he 
paused  and  gasped  as  the  ship  balanced  itself  on  an 
other  crest  preparatory  to  another  shoot  down  the 
flank  of  a  swell,  while  the  screw,  thrown  clean  out  of 
the  water,  rattled  wildly  in  the  unresisting  air  and 
made  the  ship  quiver  in  every  timber  —  some  of 
those  poets,  he  resumed  with  bitterer  indignation, 
that  sing  about  the  loveliness  of  the  briny  deep  and 
the  deep  blue — but  here  an  errant  swell  hit  the  vessel 
a  tremendous  blow  on  the  broadside,  making  her  roll 
heavily  to  starboard,  and  bringing  up  through  the 
skylights  sounds  of  breaking  goblets  thrown  from 
the  sideboards  in  the  saloon  below,  while  the  passenger 
who  hated  marine  poetry  was  capsized  from  his 
steamer  chair  and  landed  sprawling  on  the  deck. 


66  DUFFELS. 

A  small  group  of  young  people  on  the  forward 
part  of  the  upper  deck  were  passing  the  day  in  watch 
ing  the  swells  and  forecasting  the  effect  of  each  upon 
the  steamer,  rejoicing  in  the  rush  upward  followed  by 
the  sudden  falling  downward,  much  as  children  enjoy 
the  flying  far  aloft  in  a  swing  or  on  a  teetering  sea- 
saw,  to  be  frightened  by  the  descent.  Some  of  the 
young  ladies  had  books  open  in  their  laps,  but  the 
pretense  that  they  had  come  on  deck  to  read  was  a 
self-deluding  hypocrisy.  They  had  left  their  elderly 
relatives  safely  ensconced  in  staterooms  below,  and 
had  worked  their  way  up  to  the  deck  with  much  care 
and  climbing  and  with  many  lurches  and  much  griev 
ous  staggering,  not  for  the  purpose  of  reading,  but  to 
enjoy  the  society  of  other  young  women,  and  of  such 
young  men  as  could  sit  on  deck.  When  did  a  young 
lady  ever  read  on  an  ocean  steamer,  the  one  place 
where  the  numerical  odds  are  reversed  and  there  are 
always  found  two  gallant  young  men  to  attend  each 
young  girl  ?  This  merry  half  dozen,  reclining  in 
steamer  chairs  and  muffled  in  shawls,  breathed  the 
salt  air  and  enjoyed  the  chaos  into  which  the  world 
had  fallen.  On  this  deck,  where  usually  there  was  a 
throng,  they  felt  themselves  in  some  sense  survivors 
of  a  world  that  had  dropped  away  from  them,  and 
they  enjoyed  their  social  solitude,  spiced  with  appar 
ent  peril  that  was  not  peril. 

The  enthusiastic  Miss  Sylvia  Thome,  who  was  one 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  67 

of  this  party,  was  very  much  interested  in  the  billows, 
and  in  the  attentions  of  a  student  who  sat  opposite 
her.  From  time  to  time  she  remarked  also  on  some 
of  the  steerage  passengers  on  the  deck  below ;  partic 
ularly  was  she  interested  in  a  young  girl  who  sat 
watching  the  threatening  swells  emerge  from  the  mist. 
Miss  Sylvia  spoke  to  the  young  lady  alongside  of  her 
about  that  interesting  young  girl  in  the  steerage,  but 
her  companion  said  she  had  so  much  trouble  with  the 
Irish  at  home  that  she  could  not  bear  an  Irish  girl 
even  at  sea.  Her  mother,  she  went  on  to  say,  had 
hired  a  girl  who  had  proved  most  ungrateful,  she  had 
—  but  here  a  scream  from  all  the  party  told  that  a  sea 
of  more  than  usual  magnitude  was  running  up  against 
the  port  side.  A  minute  later  and  all  were  trying  to 
keep  their  seats  while  the  ship  reeled  away  to  star 
board  with  vast  momentum,  and  settled  swiftly  again 
into  the  trough  of  the  sea. 

Miss  Thome  now  wondered  that  the  sail,  which 
did  not  flap  as  she  had  observed  sails  generally  do,  in 
poems,  did  not  tear  into  shreds  as  she  had  always 
known  sails  to  do  in  novels  when  there  was  a  rough 
sea.  But  the  blue-eyed  student,  having  come  from  a 
fresh-water  college,  and  being  now  on  a  homeward 
voyage,  knew  all  about  it,  and  tried  to  explain  the  dif 
ference  between  a  sea  like  this  and  a  storm  or  a 
squall.  He  would  have  become  hopelessly  confused 
in  a  few  minutes  more  had  not  a  lucky  wave  threat- 


68  DUFFELS. 

ened  to  capsize  his  chair  and  so  divert  the  conversa 
tion  from  the  sail  to  himself.  And  just  as  Sylvia  was 
ahout  to  change  back  to  the  sail  again  for  the  sake  of 
relieving  his  embarrassment,  her  hat  strings,  not 
having  been  so  well  secured  as  the  sail,  gave  way,  and 
her  hat  went  skimming  down  to  the  main  deck  below, 
lodged  a  minute,  and  then  took  another  flight  for 
ward.  It  would  soon  have  been  riding  the  great 
waves  on  its  own  account,  a  mark  for  curious  sea  gulls 
and  hungry  sharks  to  inspect,  had  not  the  Irish  girl 
that  Sylvia  had  so  much  admired  sprung  to  her  feet 
and  seized  it  as  it  swept  past,  making  a  handsome 
"  catch  on  the  fly."  A  sudden  revulsion  of  the  vessel 
caused  her  to  stagger  and  almost  to  fall,  but  she  held 
on  to  the  hat  as  though  life  depended  on  it.  The 
party  on  the  upper  deck  cheered  her,  but  their  voices 
could  hardly  have  reached  her  in  the  midst  of  the 
confused  sounds  of  the  sea  and  the  wind. 

The  student,  Mr.  Walter  Kirk,  a  large,  bright, 
blond  fellow,  jumped  to  his  feet  and  was  about  to 
throw  himself  over  the  rail.  It  was  a  chance  to  do 
something  for  Miss  Thome ;  he  felt  impelled  to  re 
cover  her  seventy-five-cent  hat  with  all  the  abandon 
of  a  lover  flinging  himself  into  the  sea  to  rescue  his 
lady-love.  But  a  sudden  sense  of  the  ludicrousness  of 
\\.i-tinir  M>  much  eagerness  on  a  hat  and  a  sudden 
lurch  of  the  ship  checked  him.  lie  made  a  gesture 
to  the  girl  who  held  the  hat,  and  then  ran  aft  to  de- 


A   BASEMENT  STORY.  69 

scend  for  it.  The  Irish  girl,  with  the  curly  hair 
blown  back  from  her  fair  face,  started  to  meet  Mr. 
Kirk,  but  paused  abruptly  before  a  little  inscription 
which  said  that  steerage  passengers  were  not  allowed 
aft.  Then  turning  suddenly,  she  mounted  a  coil  of 
rope,  and  held  the  hat  up  to  Miss  Thorne. 

"  There's  your  hat,  miss,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sylvia. 

"  Sure  you're  welcome,  miss,"  she  said,  not  with 
a  broad  accent,  but  with  a  subdued  trace  of  Irish  in 
the  inflection  and  idiom. 

When  the  gallant  Walter  Kirk  came  round  to 
where  the  girl,  just  dismounted  from  the  cordage, 
stood,  he  was  puzzled  to  see  her  without  the  hat. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  young  lady's  got  it  her  own  self,"  she  replied. 

Kirk  felt  foolish.  Had  his  chum  come  down  over 
the  rail  for  it  ?  He  would  do  something  to  distinguish 
himself.  He  fumbled  in  his  pockets  for  a  coin  to  give 
the  girl,  but  found  nothing  smaller  than  a  half  sover 
eign,  and  with  that  he  could  ill  afford  to  part.  The 
girl  had  meanwhile  turned  away,  and  Kirk  had  noth 
ing  left  but  to  go  back  to  the  upper  deck. 

The  enthusiastic  Sylvia  spoke  in  praise  of  the  Irish 
girl  for  her  agility  and  politeness,  but  the  young  lady 
alongside,  who  did  not  like  the  Irish,  told  her  that 
what  the  girl  wanted  was  a  shilling  or  two.  Servants 
in  Europe  were  always  beggars,  and  the  Irish  people 


70  DUFFELS. 

especially.  But  she  wouldn't  give  the  girl  a  quarter  if 
it  were  her  hat.  What  was  the  use  of  making  people 
so  iiieaii-.-piriUMl  ( 

"  I'd  like  to  give  her  something,  if  I  thought  it 
wouldn't  hurt  her  feelings,"  said  Sylvia,  at  which  the 
other  laughed  immoderately. 

"  Hurt  her  feelings  !  Did  you  ever  see  an  Irish 
girl  whose  feelings  were  hurt  by  a  present  of  money  ? 
I  never  did,  though  I  don't  often  try  the  experiment, 
that's  so." 

"  I  was  going  to  offer  her  something  myself,  but 
she  walked  away  while  I  was  trying  to  find  some 
change,"  said  Kirk. 

The  matter  of  a  gratuity  to  the  girl  weighed  on 
Sylvia  Thome's  mind.  She  had  a  sense  of  a  debt  in 
owing  her  a  gratuity,  if  one  may  so  speak.  The  next 
day  being  calm  and  fine,  and  finding  her  company  not 
very  attractive,  for  young  Kirk  was  engaged  with  some 
gentlemen  in  a  stupid  game  of  shuffleboard,  she  went 
forward  to  the  part  of  the  deck  on  which  the  steerage 
passengers  were  allowed  to  sun  themselves,  and  found 
the  Irish  girl  holding  a  baby.  "  You  saved  my  hat 
yesterday,"  she  said  with  embarrassment. 

"  Sure  that's  not  much  now,  miss.  I'd  like  to  do 
somethin'  for  you  every  day  if  I  could.  It  isn't  every 
lady  that's  such  a  lady,"  said  the  girl,  with  genuine 
admiration  of  the  «lrlii-ate  features  and  kindly  manner 
of  young  Sylvia  Tliorne. 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  71 

"  Does  that  baby  belong  to  some  friend  of  yours  ? " 
asked  the  young  lady. 

"No,  miss  ;  I've  not  got  any  friends  aboard.  Its 
mother's  seasick,  and  I'm  givin'  her  a  little  rest  an' 
holdin'  the  baby  out  here.  The  air  of  that  steerage 
isn't  fit  for  a  baby,  now,  you  may  say." 

Should  she  give  her  any  money?  What  was  it 
about  the  girl  that  made  her  afraid  to  offer  a  cus 
tomary  trifle  ? 

"  Where  did  you  live  in  Ireland  ? "  inquired 
Sylvia. 

"  At  Drogheda,  miss,  till  I  went  to  work  in  the 
linen  mills." 

"  Oh !  you  worked  in  the  linen  mills." 

"  Yes,  miss.  My  father  died,  and  my  mother  was 
poor,  and  girls  must  work  for  their  living.  But  my 
father  wanted  me  to  get  a  good  bit  of  readin'  and 
writin',  so  as  I  might  do  better  ;  but  he  died,  miss,  and 
I  couldn't  leave  my  mother  without  help." 

"  You  were  the  only  child  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  sister,  but  somehow  she  didn't  care  to 
go  out  to  work,  and  so  I  had  to  go  out  to  service ;  and 
I  heard  that  more  was  paid  in  Ameriky,  where  I've 
got  an  aunt,  an'  I  had  enough  to  take  me  out,  an'  I 
thought  maybe  I'd  get  my  mother  out  there  some  day, 
or  I'd  get  money  enough  to  make  her  comfortable, 
anyways." 

"  What  kind  of  work  will  you  do  in  New  York  ? 


72  DUFFELS. 

I  don't  believe  we've  got  any  linen  mills.  I  think  we 
get  Irish  linen  table-cloths,  and  6O  on." 

"  Oh,  I'm  going  out  to  service.  I  can't  do  heavy 
work,  but  I  can  do  chambermaid1!  work." 

All  this  time  Sylvia  was  turning  a  quarter  over  in 
her  pocket.  It  was  the  only  American  coin  she  had 
carried  with  her  through  Europe,  and  she  now  took  it 
out  slowly,  and  said : 

"  You'll  accept  a  little  something  for  your  kindness 
in  saving  my  hat." 

"  I'm  much  obliged,  miss,  but  I'd  rather  not.  I'd 
rather  have  your  kind  words  than  any  money.  It's 
very  lonesome  I've  been  since  I  left  Drogheda." 

She  put  the  quarter  back  into  her  pocket  with 
something  like  shame ;  then  she  fumbled  her  rings  in 
a  strange  embarrassment.  She  had  made  a  mess  of  it, 
she  thought.  At  the  same  time  she  was  glad  the  girl 
had  so  much  pride. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Margaret  Byrne." 

"  You  must  let  me  help  you  in  some  way,"  said 
Mi.-s  Thome  at  last. 

"  I  wonder  what  kind  of  people  they  are  in  New 
York,  now,"  said  Margaret,  looking  at  Sylvia  wist 
fully.  "  It  seems  dreadful  to  go  so  far  away  and  not 
know  in  whose  house  you'll  be  livin'." 

Sylvia  looked  steadily  at  the  girl,  and  then  went 
away,  promising  to  see  her  again.  She  smiled  at  Walter 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  73 

Kirk,  who  had  finished  his  game  of  slmffleboard  and 
was  looking  all  up  and  down  the  deck  for  Miss 
Thome.  She  did  not  stop  to  talk  with  him,  how 
ever,  but  pushed  on  to  where  her  mother  and  father 
were  sitting  not  far  from  the  taffrail. 

"  Mamma,  I've  been  out  in  the  steerage." 

"  You'll  be  in  the  maintop  next,  I  don't  doubt," 
said  her  father,  laughing. 

"I've  been  talking  to  the  Irish  girl  that  caught 
my  hat  yesterday." 

"  You  shouldn't  talk  to  steerage  people,"  said  Mrs. 
Thorne.  "  They  might  have  the  smallpox,  or  they 
might  not  be  proper  people." 

"  I  suppose  cabin  passengers  might  have  the  small 
pox  too,"  said  Mr.  Thorne,  who  liked  to  tease  either 
wife  or  daughter. 

"  I  offered  the  Irish  girl  a  quarter,  and  she  wouldn't 
have  it." 

"  You're  too  free  with  your  money,"  said  her 
mother  in  a  tone  of  complaint  that  was  habitual. 

"  The  girl  wouldn't  impose  on  you,  Sylvia,"  said 
Mr.  Thorne.  "  She's  honest.  She  knew  that  your  hat 
wasn't  worth  so  much.  Now,  if  you  had  said  fifteen 
cents —  " 

"  O  papa,  be  still,"  and  she  put  her  hand  over  his 
mouth.  "  I  want  to  propose  something." 

"  Going  to  adopt  the  Irish — "  But  here  Sylvia's 
hand  again  arrested  Mr.  Thome's  speech. 


74  DUFFELS. 

"No,  I'mnotgoingto  adopt  her,  but  I  want  mam 
ma  to  take  her  for  upstairs  girl  when  we  get  home." 

Mr.  Thorne  made  another  effort  to  push  away 
Sylvia's  hand  so  as  to  say  something,  but  the  romping 
girl  smothered  his  speech  into  a  gurgle. 

"  I  couldn't  think  of  it.  She's  got  no  references 
and  no  character." 

"Maybe  she  has  got  her  character  in  her  pocket. 
you  don't  know,"  broke  out  the  father.  "Thai's 
where  some  girls  carry  their  character  till  it's  worn 
out." 

14  Til  give  her  a  character,"  said  Sylvia.  "  She  is 
a  lady,  if  she  is  a  servant." 

"That's  just  what  I  don't  want,  Sylvia,"  said  Mrs. 
Thorne,  with  a  plantive  inflection,  "  a  ladylike  serv 
ant." 

"  Oh,  well,  we  must  try  her.  How's  the  girl  to  get 
a  character  if  nobody  tries  her  ?  And  she's  real  splen 
did,  I  think,  going  off  to  get  money  to  help  her  mother. 
And  I'm  sure  she's  had  some  great  sorrow  or  disap 
pointment,  you  know.  She's  got  such  a  wistful  look 
in  her  face,  and  when  I  spoke  about  Drogheda  she 
said—  " 

"  There  you  are  again ! "  exclaimed  the  father. 
"  You'll  have  a  heroine  to  make  your  bed  every  morn 
ing.  But  you'd  better  keep  your  drawers  locked  for 
all  that." 

"Now,  T  think  that's  moan!"  and  the  young  girl 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  75 

tried  to  look  stern.  But  the  severity  vanished  when 
Mr.  Kirk,  of  the  senior  class  in  Highland  College, 
came  up  to  inform  Miss  Thome  that  the  young  people 
were  about  getting  up  a  conundrum  party.  Miss 
Sylvia  accepted  the  invitation  to  join  in  that  diluted 
recreation,  saying,  as  she  departed,  "  Let's  try  her  any 
way." 

"  If  she  wants  her  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  take 
her,  but  I  wish  she  had  more  sense  than  to  go  to  the 
steerage  for  a  servant." 

"  She  could  hardly  find  one  in  the  cabin,"  ventured 
Mr.  Thorne. 

So  it  happened  that,  on  arrival  in  New  York, 
Margaret  Byrne  was  installed  as  second  girl  at  the 
Thornes'.  For  in  an  American  home  the  authority  is 
often  equitably  divided — the  mother  has  the  name  of 
ruling  the  household  which  the  daughter  actually 
governs. 

II. 

How  much  has  the  setting  to  do  with  a  romance  ? 
The  old  tales  had  castles  environed  with  savage  forests 
and  supplied  with  caves  and  underground  galleries 
leading  to  where  it  was  necessary  to  go  in  the  novel 
ist's  emergency.  In  our  realistic  times  we  like  to  lay 
our  scenes  on  a  ground  of  Axminster  with  environ 
ments  of  lace  curtains,  pianos,  and  oil  paintings.  How, 
then,  shall  I  make  you  understand  the  real  human  loves 


76  DUFFELS. 

and  sorrows  that  often  have  play  in  a  girl's  heart, 
whore  there  are  no  better  stage  fittings  than  stationary 
wushtubs  and  kitchen  ranges? 

Sylvia  Thome  was  sure  that  the  pretty  maid  from 
Drogheda,  whose  melancholy  showed  itself  through 
the  veil  of  her  perfect  health,  had  suffered  a  disap 
pointment.  She  watched  her  as  she  went  silently 
about  her  work  of  sweeping  and  bed  making,  and 
she  knew  by  a  sort  of  divination  that  here  was  a  real 
heroine,  a  sufferer  or  a  doer  of  something. 

Mrs.  Thorne  pronounced  the  new  maid  good,  but 
"  awfully  solemn."  But  when  Maggie  Byrne  met  the 
eyes  of  Sylvia  looking  curiously  and  kindly  at  her  sad 
face,  there  broke  through  her  seriousness  a  smile  so 
bright  and  sunny  that  Sylvia  was  sure  she  had  been 
mistaken,  and  that  there  had  been  no  disappointment 
in  the  girl's  life. 

Maggie  shocked  Mrs.  Thorne  by  buying  a  shrine 
from  an  image  vender  and  hanging  it  against  the  wall 
in  the  kitchen.  The  mistress  of  the  house,  being  very 
scrupulous  of  other  people's  superstitions,  and  being 
one  of  the  stanch est  of  Protestants,  doubted  whether 
she  ought  to  allow  an  idolatrous  image  to  remain  on 
the  wall.  She  had  read  the  Old  Testament  a  good 
deal,  and  she  meditated  whether  she  ought  not,  like 
Jehu,  the  son  of  Nimshi,  to  break  the  image  in  pieces. 
But  Mr.  Thorne,  when  the  matter  was  referred  to 
him,  said  that  a  faithful  Catholic  ought  to  be  better 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  77 

than  an  unfaithful  one,  and  that  so  long  as  Margaret 
did  not  steal  the  jewelry  she  oughtn't  to  be  disturbed 
at  her  prayers,  which  it  was  known  she  was  accus 
tomed  to  say  every  night,  with  her  head  bowed  on 
the  ironing  table,  before  the  image  of  Mary  and  her 
son. 

"  How  can  the  Catholics  pray  to  images  and  say 
the  second  commandment,  I'd  like  to  know  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Thorne,  one  morning,  with  some  asperity. 

"  By  a  process  like  that  by  which  we  Protestants 
read  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  then  go  on  re 
viling  our  enemies  and  laying  up  treasures  on  earth," 
said  her  husband. 

"  My  dear,  you  never  will  listen  to  reason ;  you 
know  that  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  is  not  to  be 
taken  literally." 

"  And  how  about  the  second  commandment  ? " 

"  You'd  defend  the  scribes  and  Pharisees,  I  do 
believe,  just  for  the  sake  of  an  argument." 

"  Oh,  no  !  there  are  plenty  of  them  alive  yet ;  let 
them  defend  themselves,  if  they  want  to,"  said  the 
ungallant  husband,  with  a  wicked  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

As  for  Sylvia,  she  was  all  the  more  convinced,  as 
time  went  on,  that  the  girl  "  had  had  a  disappoint 
ment."  On  the  evenings  when  the  cook  was  out 
Sylvia  would  find  her  way  into  the  kitchen  for  a  talk 
with  Maggie.  The  quaint  old  stories  of  Ireland  and 
the  enthusiastic  description  of  Irish  scenes  that  found 


T8  DUFFELS. 

their  way  into  Margaret  Byrne's  talk  delighted  Svl- 
via's  fancy.  But  the  conversations  always  ended  by 
some  allusion  to  the  ship  and  the  hat,  and  to  the  lur-v- 
shouldered  blond  young  man  that  came  down  after 
the  hat ;  and  Sylvia  confided  to  Maggie  that  he  had 
asked  permission  to  call  to  see  her  the  next  summer, 
when  he  should  come  East  after  his  graduation.  Mar 
garet  had  no  other  company,  and  she  regularly  looked 
for  Sylvia  on  the  evenings  when  she  was  alone,  bright 
ening  the  kitchen  for  the  occasion  so  much  as  to  con 
vince  the  "  down-stairs  girl "  that  sly  Maggie  was  ac 
customed  to  receive  a  beau  in  her  absence. 

One  evening  Miss  Thome  found  Maggie  in  tears. 

"  I've  a  mind  to  tell  you  all  about  it,"  said  the 
girl,  in  answer  to  the  inquiries  of  Sylvia,  at  the  same 
time  pushing  her  hair  back  off  her  face  and  leaning 
her  head  on  her  hands  while  she  rested  her  elbows  on 
the  table. 

"  Maybe  it  will  do  you  good  to  tell  me,"  an 
swered  Sylvia,  concealing  her  eager  curiosity  behind 
her  desire  to  serve  Margaret. 

"  Well,  you  see,  miss,  my  sister  Dora  is  purty." 

"  So  are  you,  Maggie." 

"  No,  but  Dora  is  a  young  thing,  and  kind  of  help 
less,  like  a  baby.  I  was  the  oldest,  and  that  Dora  was 
my  baby,  like.  Well,  Andy  Doyle  and  me  were  al 
ways  friends.  I  wish  I  hadn't  never  seen  him.  But 
he  seemed  to  be  the  nicest  fellow  in  the  world.  There 


A   BASEMENT  STORY.  79 

was  never  anything  said  between  him  an'  me,  only- 
well — but  I  can't  tell  ye — you're  so  young — you  don't 
know  about  such  things." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  You  loved  him,  didn't  you  ? " 
"  You  see,  miss,  he  was  always  so  good.  Dora, 
she  hadn't  no  end  of  b'ys  that  liked  her.  But  any 
thing  that  I  had  she  always  wanted,  you  may  say,  and 
I  always  'umored  her  in  a  way.  She  was  young  and 
a  kind  of  a  baby,  an'  she  is  that  purty,  Miss  Sylvy. 
"Well,  one  of  us  had  to  go  out  to  work  in  the  mill, 
an'  my  mother,  she  said  that  Dora  must  go,  because 
Dora  wasn't  any  good  about  the  house  to  speak  of. 
She  never  knew  how  to  do  anything  right.  But 
Dora  cried,  and  said  she  couldn't  work  in  the  mill, 
and  so  I  went  down  to  Larne  to  work  in  the  mill,  and 
Dora  promised  to  look  afther  the  house.  Now,  at  the 
time  I  went  away  Dora  was  all  took  up  with  Billy 
Caughey,  and  we  thought  sure  as  could  be  it  was  a 
match.  But  what  does  that  girl  do  but  desave  Billy, 
and  catch  Andy.  I  don't  think,  miss,  that  he  ever 
half  loved  her,  but  then  I  don't  know  what  she  made 
him  believe ;  and  then,  ye  know,  nobody  ever  could 
refuse  Dora  anything,  with  her  little  beggin',  winnin' 
ways.  She  just  dazed  him  and  got  him  engaged  to 
her ;  and  I  don't  believe  he  was  ever  entirely  happy 
with  her.  But  what  could  I  do,  miss?  I  couldn't 
try  to  coax  him  back — now  could  I  ?  She  was  such  a 
baby  of  a  thing  that  she  would  cry  if  Andy  only 


80  DUFFFLS. 

talked  to  me  a  minute  afther  I  come  home.  And  I 
didn't  want  to  take  him  away  from  her.  That  was 
when  the  mill  at  Larne  had  shut  up.  And  so  I 
hadn't  no  heart  to  do  anything  more  there ;  it  seemed 
like  I  was  dead ;  and  I  knowed  that  if  I  stayed  there 
would  be  trouble,  for  I  could  see  that  Andy  looked  at 
ine  strange,  like  there  was  somethin'  he  didn't  quite 
understand,  ye  may  say ;  but  I  was  mad,  and  I  didn't 
want  to  take  away  Dora's  beau,  nor  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  a  lad  that  could  change  his  mind  so  easy. 
And  so  I  come  away,  thinkin'  maybe  I'd  get  some 
heart  again  on  this  side  of  the  sea,  and  that  I  could 
soon  send  for  me  old  mother  to  come." 

Here  she  leaned  her  head  on  the  table  and  cried. 

"  Now,  there,"  she  said  after  a  while,  "  to-day  I 
got  a  letter  from  Dora ;  there  it  is ! "  and  she  pushed 
it  to  the  middle  of  the  table  as  though  it  stung  her. 
"  She  says  that  Andy  is  comin'  over  here  to  make 
money  enough  to  bring  her  over  after  a  while,  sure. 
It  kind  o'  makes  my  heart  jump  up,  miss,  to  think  of 
seem'  anybody  from  Drogheda,  and  more'n  all  to  see 
Andy  again,  that  always  played  with  me,  and —  But 
I  despise  him  too,  miss,  fer  bein'  so  changeable.  But 
then,  Dora  she  makes  fools  out  of  all  of  them  with 
her  purty  face  and  her  coaxin'  ways,  miss.  She  can't 
help  it,  maybe." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  see  Andy  if  you  don't  want 
to,"  said  Svlvia. 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  81 

"  Oh !  but  I  do  want  to,"  and  Margaret  laughed 
through  her  tears  at  her  own  inconsistency.  "  Be 
sides,  Dora  wants  me  to  help  him  get  a  place,  and  I 
must  do  that ;  and  then,  sure,  miss,  do  you  think  I'd 
let  him  know  that  I  cared  a  farthin'  fer  him  ?  Not 
a  bit  of  it ! "  and  Maggie  pushed  back  her  hair  and 
held  herself  up  proudly. 

The  next  morning,  as  Margaret  laid  the  morning 
paper  on  Mr.  Thome's  table  in  the  library,  she  ven 
tured  to  ask  if  he  knew  of  a  place  for  a  friend  of  hers 
that  was  coming  from  Ireland  the  next  week.  That 
gentleman  had  caught  the  infection  of  Sylvia's  enthu 
siasm  for  the  Irish  girl,  and  by  the  blush  on  her  cheek 
when  she  made  the  request  he  was  sure  that  his  pene 
tration  had  divined  the  girl's  secret.  So  he  made 
some  inquiries  about  Andy,  and,  finding  that  he  was 
"  handy  with  tools,"  the  merchant  thought  he  could 
give  him  a  place  in  his  packing  department. 

It  happened,  therefore,  that  Sylvia  rarely  spent 
any  more  evenings  in  the  kitchen.  Instead  of  that, 
her  little  sister  used  to  frequent  it,  for  Andy  was  very 
ingenious  in  making  chairs,  tables,  and  other  furni 
ture  for  doll  houses,  and  little  Sophy  thought  him 
the  nicest  man  in  the  world.  Maggie  was  very  cool 
and  repellent  to  him,  with  little  spells  of  relenting. 
Sometimes  Andy  felt  himself  so  much  snubbed  that 
he  would  leave  after  a  five  minutes'  call,  in  which 
event  Maggie  Byrne  was  sure  to  relax  a  little  at  the 


82  DUFFELS. 

door,  and  Sylvia  or  Sophy  was  almost  certain  to  find 
her  in  tears  afterward. 

Andy  could  not,  perhaps,  have  defined  his  feelings 
toward  Margaret.  He  could  not  resist  the  attraction 
of  the  kitchen,  for  was  not  Maggie  his  old  playmate 
and  the  sister  of  Dora  ?  Sure,  there  was  no  harm  at 
all  in  a  fellow's  goin'  to  see,  just  once  a  week,  the  sis 
ter  of  his  swateheart,  when  the  ocean  kept  him  from 
seein'  his  swateheart  herself.  But  if  Andy  had  been 
a  man  accustomed  to  analyze  his  feelings  he  might 
have  inquired  how  it  came  that  he  liked  his  swate- 
heart's  sister  better  even  than  his  swateheart  herself. 

One  evening  he  had  a  letter  from  Dora,  and  he 
thought  to  cheer  Margaret  with  good  news  from  home. 
But  she  would  not  be  cheered. 

"  Now  what's  the  matter,  Mag  ? "  Andy  said  coax- 
ingly.  "  Don't  that  fellow  in  Larne  write  to  ye  ? " 

"What  fellow  in  Larne?"  demanded  Margaret 
with  asperity. 

"  Why,  him  that  used  to  be  so  swate  when  ye 
was  a-workin'  in  the  mill/' 

-  \Vhotoldyouthat?" 

"  Oh,  now,  you  needn't  try  to  kape  it  from  me ! 
Don't  you  think  I  knew  all  about  it?  Do  you  think 
Dora  wouldn't  tell  me,  honey  ?  Don't  I  know  you 
was  engaged  to  him  before  you  left  the  mill  at 
Larne  ?  Has  he  gone  an'  desaved  you  now,  Maggie  ? 
If  he  has,  I  don't  wonder  you're  cross." 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  83 

"Andy,  that  isn't  true.  I  never  had  any  b'y  at 
Larne,  at  all." 

"  JSTow,  what's  the  use  denying  it  ?  That's  always 
the  way  with  you  girls  about  such  things." 

"  Andy  Doyle,  do  you  go  out  of  this  kitchen, 
and  don't  you  never  come  back.  I  never  desaved 
you  in  my  life,  and  I  won't  have  nobody  say  that 
I  did." 

A  conflict  of  feeling  had  made  Margaret  irritable, 
and  Andy  was  the  most  convenient  object  of  wrath 
in  the  absence  of  Dora.  Andy  started  slowly  out 
through  the  hall ;  there  he  turned  about,  and  said : 

"Hold  a  bit,  my  poor  Mag.  Let  me  git  me 
thoughts  together.  It's  me's  been  desaved.  If  it 
hadn't  'a'  been  fer  that  fellow  down  at  Larne  there 
wouldn't  never  'a'  been  anything  betwixt  me  and 
Dora.  And  now — " 

"  Don't  you  say  no  more,  Andy.  Dora's  a  child, 
and  she  wanted  you.  Don't  ye  give  her  up.  If  you 
give  her  up,  and  she,  poor  child,  on  the  other  sides  of 
the  water,  I'll  never  respict  ye — d'ye  hear  that,  now, 
Andy  ?  Only  the  last  letter  she  wrote  she  said  she'd 
break  her  heart  if  I  let  you  fall  in  love  with  anybody 
else.  The  men's  all  fools  now,  anyhow,  Andy,  and 
some  of  them  is  bad,  but  don't  you  go  and  desave 
that  child,  that's  a-breakin'  her  heart  af ther  you.  And 
don't  ye  believe  as  I  ever  keered  a  straw  for  ye,  for 
I  don't  keer  fer  you,  nor  no  other  man  a-livin'." 


84  DUFFELS. 

Andy  stood  still  for  some  moments,  trying  in  a 
dumb  way  to  think  what  to  do  or  say  ;  then  he  help 
lessly  opened  the  door  and  went  out. 

III. 

The  next  Thursday  evening  Andy  did  not  come, 
and  Margaret  felt  sorry,  she  could  not  tell  why.  But 
Sylvia  came  down  into  the  lower  hall,  peered  through 
the  glass  of  the  kitchen  door,  and,  finding  the  maid 
sitting  alone  by  the  range,  entered  as  of  old.  And  to 
her  Maggie  Byrne,  sore  pressed  for  sympathy,  told  of 
her  last  talk  with  the  comely  young  man. 

"  You  see,  miss,  it  would  be  too  mean  fer  me  to 
take  Dora's  b'y  away  from  her,  fer  he's  the  finest- 
lookin'  and  altogether  the  nicest  young  man  any 
where  about  Drogheda ;  and  Dora,  she's  always  used 
to  havin'  the  best  of  everything,  and  she  always  took 
anything  that  was  mine,  thinkin'  she'd  a  right  to  it, 
and,  bein'  a  weak  and  purty  young  thing,  I  s'pose  she 
had,  now,  miss." 

"  I  think  she's  mean,  Maggie,  and  you're  foolish  if 
you  don't  take  your  own  lover  back  again." 

"And  she  on  the  other  sides  of  the  say,  miss? 
And  my  own  little  sister  that  I  packed  around  in  me 
arms?  She's  full  of  tricks,  but  then  she's  purty,  and 
she's  always  been  used  to  havin'  my  things.  At  any 
rate,  'tain't  meself  as'll  l>e  takin'  away  what's  hers,  and 
.-heV  tru.-ted  him  to  me,  and  she's  away  on  the  other 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  85 

sides  of  the  water.  At  least  not  if  I  can  help  it,  miss. 
And  I  pray  fer  help  all  the  time.  Besides,  do  you 
think  I'd  have  Andy  Doyle  afther  what's  happened, 
even  if  Dora  was  out  of  the  way  ? " 

"  I  know  you  would,"  said  Sylvia. 

"  I  believe  I  would,  miss,  I'm  such  a  fool.  But 
then  sometimes  I  despise  him.  If  it  wasn't  fer  me 
dear  old  mother,  that  maybe  I'll  never  see  again," 
and  Maggie  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  "  I'd  join 
the  Sisters.  I  think  maybe  I  have  got  a  vocation,  as 
they  call  it." 

It  was  the  very  next  evening  after  this  interview 
that  Bridget  Monahan,  the  downstairs  girl,  gave  Mar 
garet  a  little  advice. 

"He's  a  foine  young  feller,  now,  Mag,  but  don't 
you  be  in  no  hurry  to  git  married.  You're  afther 
havin'  a  nice  face — a  kind  o'  saint's  face,  on'y  it's  a 
thrifle  too  solemn  to  win  the  men.  But  if  Andy 
should  lave,  ye  might  be  afther  doin'  better,  and  ye 
might  be  afther  doin'  worruss  now,  Mag.  But  don't 
ye  git  married  till  ye've  got  enough  to  buy  a  brocade 
shawl.  Ef  ye  don't  git  a  brocade  shawl  afore  you're 
married,  niver  a  bit  of  a  one'll  ye  be  afther  gittin' 
aftherwards.  Girls  like  us  don't  git  no  money  afther 
they  are  married,  and  it's  best  to  lay  by  enough  to  git 
a  shawl  beforehand  now,  Mag.  That's  me  own  plan." 

A  few  weeks  later  Maggie  was  thrown  into  grief 
by  hearing  of  the  death  of  her  mother.  Of  course  she 


86  DUFFELS. 

received  sympathy  from  Sylvia.     Andy,  also 

•ived  a  letter  from  Dora,  ventured  to  call  on  Ma;j;- 
gie  to  express  in  his  sincerely  simple  way  his  sympa 
thy  for  her  grief,  and  to  discuss  with  her  what  was 
now  to  be  done  for  the  homeless  girl  in  the  old 
country. 

"  We  must  bring  her  over,  Andy." 

"I  know  that,"  said  the  young  man.  "I'll  draw 
all  my  money  out  of  the  Shamrock  Savings  Bank  to- 
morry  and  send  her  a  ticket.  But  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Mag,  after  I  went  away  from  here  the  last  time  I  felt 
sure  I'd  never  marry  Dora  Byrne.  But  maybe  I  was 
wrong.  Poor  thing !  I'm  sorry  fer  her,  all  alone." 

"  Sure,  now,  Andy,  you  must  'a'  made  a  mistake," 
said  Maggie.  "It's  myself  as  may've  given  Dora 
rason  to  think  I'd  got  a  young  man  down  at  Lame. 
I  don't  know  as  she  meant  to  desave  you.  She 
needn't,  fer  you  know  I  don't  keer  fer  men,  neither 
you  nor  anybody.  I'm  goin'  into  the  Sisters,  now  my 
mother's  dead.  I've  spoken  to  Sister  Agnes  about  it." 

But  whether  it  was  from  her  lonely  feeling  at  the 
death  of  her  mother,  or  from  her  exultation  at  her 
victory  over  her  feelings,  or  whether  it  was  that  her 
heart,  trodden  down  by  her  conscience,  sought  revenge, 
she  showed  more  affection  for  Andy  this  evening 
than  ever  before,  following  him  to  the  area  gate,  de 
taining  him  in  conversation,  and  bidding  him  good 
night  with  real  emotion. 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  87 

The  next  evening  Andy  came  again  with  a  long 
face.  He  had  a  paper  in  which  he  showed  Maggie 
an  account  of  the  suspension  of  the  Shamrock  Savings 
Bank,  in  which  the  money  of  so  many  Irishmen  was 
locked  up,  and  in  which  were  all  of  Andy  Doyle's 
savings,  except  ten  dollars  he  had  in  his  pocket. 

"Now,  Mag,  what  am  I  goin'  to  do?  It  takes 
thirty-five  dollars  for  a  ticket.  If  I  put  my  week's 
wages  that  I'll  git  to-morry  on  to  this,  I'm  short  half 
of  it." 

"  Sure,  Andy,  I'll  let  you  have  it  all  if  you  want 
it.  You  keep  what  you've  got.  She's  me  own  sister. 
On'y  I'll  have  to  wait  a  while,  for  I  don't  want  to 
fetch  into  the  Sisters  any  less  money  than  I've  spoke 
to  Sister  Agnes  about." 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  pay  ye  back  every  cint  of  it, 
Mag,  and  God  bless  ye !  But  it  'most  makes  me  hate 
Dora  to  see  you  so  good.  And  I  tell  you,  Maggie, 
the  first  thing  when  she  gits  here  she's  got  to  explain 
about  that  fellow  down  at  Larne  that  she  told  me 
about." 

"Andy,"  said  Maggie,  "d'ye  mind  now  what  I 
say.  I've  suffered  enough  on  account  of  Dora's 
takin'  you  away  from  me,  but  I'd  rather  die  with  a 
broken  heart  than  to  have  anything  to  do  with  you  if 
you  are  afther  breakin'  that  poor  child's  heart  when 
she  comes  here." 

"  Oh,  then  you  did  keer  for  me  a  little,  Maggie 


88  DUFFELS. 

darlint  ?  "  exclaimed  Andy.    "  I  thought  you  said  you 
never  did  kcer ! " 

Maggie  was  surprised.  "I  don't  keer  fer  you,  nor 
any  other  man,  a: I*  1  I  never —  P.ut  here  she  pan >e«l. 
"You  ought  to  be  a.-hamcd  to  be  talk  in'  that  way  to 
me,  and  you  engaged  to  Dora.  There,  now,  take  the 
money,  Andy,  and  git  Dora's  ticket,  and  don't  let's 
hear  no  more  foolish  talkiif  that  it  would  break  the 
poor  dear  orphan's  heart  to  hear.  The  pour  baby's 
got  nobody  but  you  and  me  to  look  afther  her,  now 
her  mother's  gone,  and  it's  a  shame  and  a  sin  if  we 
don't  do  it." 

IV. 

Margaret  Byrne  hurried  her  work  through.  The 
steamer  that  brought  Dora  had  come  in  that  day. 
Dora  was  met  at  Castle  Garden  by  her  aunt,  and 
Margaret  had  got  permission  to  go  to  see  her  in  the 
evening.  As  Andy  Doyle  had  to  go  the  same  way, 
he  stopped  for  Ma^io.  All  the  way  over  to  the 
aunt's  house  in  Ilnn.klyn  he  was  moody  and  silent, 
tin-  very  opposite  of  a  man  going  to  meet  his  be 
trothed.  Margaret  was  <jiiiet,  with  the  peace  of  one 
who  has  gained  a  victory.  Her  struggle  was  over. 
There  was  no  more  any  danpT  that  >he  >h<>nld  be 
betrayed  int«>  hearing  nil  the  aiTeetions  of  her  M,-ter's 
atlianced  lover. 

M    j  .],.  Lfl-reted  Dora  affectionately,  but  I)«.ra  was 


A  BASEMENT  STORY.  89 

like  one  distraught.  She  held  herself  aloof  from  her 
sister,  and  still  more  from  Andy,  who,  on  his  part, 
made  a  very  poor  show  of  affection. 

"  Well,"  said  Dora  after  a  while,  "  I  s'pose  you 
two  people  have  been  afther  makin'  love  to  one 
another  for  six  months." 

"You  hain't  got  any  right  to  say  that,  Dora," 
broke  out  Andy.  "  Maggie's  stood  up  f er  you  in  a 
way  you  didn't  more'n  half  desarve,  and  it's  partly 
Maggie's  money  that  brought  you  here.  You  know 
well  enough  what  a — a — lie,  if  I  must  say  it,  you  told 
me  about  Mag's  havin'  a  beau  at  Larne,  and  she  says 
she  didn't.  You're  the  one  that  took  away  your  sis 
ter's — "  But  here  he  paused. 

"  Hush  up,  Andy  ! "  broke  in  Margaret.  "  You 
know  I  never  keered  fer  you,  or  any  other  man. 
Don't  you  and  Dora  begin  to  quarrel  now." 

Andy  looked  sullen,  and  Dora  scared.  At  length 
Dora  took  speech  timidly. 

"  Billy  will  be  here  in  a  minute." 

"  Billy  who  ? "  asked  Andy. 

"  Billy  Canghey,"  she  answered.  "  He  came  over 
in  the  same  ship  with  me." 

"  Oh,  I  s'pose  you've  been  sparkin'  with  him 
ag'in !  You  pitched  him  over  to  take  me — " 

"  No,  I  haven't  been  sparkin'  with  him,  Andy ;  at 
least,  not  lately.  He's  my  husband.  We  got  married 
three  months  ago." 


00  DUFFELS. 

"And  didn't  tell  me?"  said  Andy,  between  pleas 
ure  and  anger. 

"  No,  we  wanted  to  come  over  here,  and  we  couldn't 
have  come  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  money  you  sent." 

"  Why,  Dora,  how  mean  you  treated  Andy ! "  broke 
out  Margaret. 

"  I  knew  you'd  take  up  for  him,"  said  Dora  piti 
fully,  "  but  what  could  I  do,  sure?  You  won't  hurt 
Billy,  now,  will  you,  Andy  ?  He's  afeard  of  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Andy,  straightening  up  his  fine  form 
with  a  smile  of  relief,  "  tell  Billy  that  I  wish  him 
much  j'y,  and  that  I'll  be  afther  thankiif  him  with  all 
my  heart  the  very  first  time  I  see  him  fer  the  kind 
ness  he's  afther  doin'  me.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Billy 
Caughey,  good  luck  to  ye !  As  Mag  says  she  don't 
keer  fer  me,  I'll  be  after  going  home  alone."  This 
last  was  said  bitterly  as  he  opened  the  door. 

"  O  Andy  !  wait  fer  me — do ! "  said  Margaret. 

"  Ain't  you  stayin'  to  see  Billy  ? "  asked  Dora. 

"  Not  me.  It's  with  Andy  Doyle  I'm  afther 
goin',"  cried  Margaret,  with  a  lightness  she  had  not 
known  for  a  year. 

And  the  two  went  out  together. 

The  next  evening  Margaret  told  Sylvia  about  it, 
and  the  little  romance-maker  was  in  ecstasy. 

"  So  you  won't  enter  the  sisterhood,  then  ? "  she 
said,  when  Mai-iraret  had  finished. 

"  No,  miss,  I  don't  think  I've  got  any  vocation." 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT. 

THE    STORY    OF    A    FOURTH    OF   JULY. 

WHENEVER  one  writes  with  photographic  exact 
ness  of  frontier  life  he  is  accused  of  inventing  im 
probable  things. 

"  Old  Davy  Lindsley  "  lived  in  a  queer  cabin  on 
the  Pomme  de  Terre  River.  If  you  should  ever  ride 
over  the  new  Northern  Pacific  when  it  shall  be  com 
pleted,  or  over  that  branch  of  it  which  crosses  the 
Pomme  de  Terre,  you  can  get  out  at  a  station  which 
will,  no  doubt,  be  called  for  an  old  settler,  Gager's 
Station  ;  and  if  you  would  like  to  see  some  beauti 
ful  scenery,  take  a  canoe  and  float  down  the  Pomme 
de  Terre  River.  You  will  have  to  make  some  port 
ages,  and  you  will  have  a  good  appetite  for  supper 
when  you  reach  the  old  Lindsley  house,  ten  miles 
from  Gager's,  but  its  present  owner  is  hospitable. 

A  queer  old  chap  was  Lindsley  the  last  time  I  saw 
him.  I  remember  how  he  took  me  all  over  his  claim 
and  showed  me  the  beauties  of  Lindsleyville,  as  he 
called  it.  His  long  iron-gray  hair  fluttered  in  the 
wind,  and  his  face  seemed  like  a  wizard's,  penetrating 


92  DUFFKLS. 

but  unearthly.  That  was  long  before  the  great  tide 
of  immigrants  had  begun  to  find  their  way  into  this 
paradise  through  the  highway  of  the  Sauk  Valley. 
Lindsley ville  was  a  hundred  and  lifty  miles  out  of  the 
world  at  that  time.  Its  population  numbered  two — 
Lindsley  and  his  daughter.  The  old  man  had  tried  to 
make  a  fortune  in  many  ways.  There  was  no  sort  of 
useless  invention  that  he  had  not  attempted,  and  you 
will  find  in  the  Patent  Office  models  without  number 
of  beehives  and  cannons,  steam  cut-offs  and  baby 
jumpers,  lightning  churns  and  flying  machines  on 
which  he  had  taken  out  patents,  assured  of  making 
a  fortune  from  each  one.  lie  had  raised  fancy  chick 
ens,  figured  himself  rich  on  two  swarms  of  bees,  trav 
eled  with  a  magic  lantern,  written  a  philosophic  novel, 
and  started  a  newspaper.  There  was  but  one  purpose 
in  which  he  was  fixed — which  was,  to  guard  his  daugh 
ter  jealously.  To  do  this,  and  to  make  the  experiment 
of  building  a  Utopian  city,  he  had  traveled  to  the 
summit  of  this  knoll  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Pomme 
de  Terre.  There  never  was  a  more  beautiful  land 
scape  than  that  which  Lindsley  ville  commanded.  But 
the  town  did  not  grow,  chiefly  because  it  was  so  far 
beyond  the  border,  though  the  conditions  in  his  deeds 
intended  to  secure  the  character  of  the  city  from  de 
terioration  were  so  many  that  nobody  would  have 
been  willing  to  buy  the  lots. 

At  the  time  I  speak  of  David  Lindsley  had  dwelt 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  93 

on  the  Pomme  de  Terre  for  five  years.  He  had  re 
moved  suddenly  from  the  Connecticut  village  in 
which  he  had  been  living  because  he  discovered  that 
his  daughter  had,  in  spite  of  his  watchfulness,  formed 
an  attachment  for  a  young  man  who  had  the  effront 
ery  to  disclose  the  whole  thing  to  him  by  politely  ask 
ing  his  consent  to  their  marriage. 

"  Marry  my  daughter ! "  choked  the  old  man. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Brown,  you  are  crazy  !  I  have  educated 
her  upon  the  combined  principles  of  Rousseau,  of 
Pestalozzi,  of  Froebel,  and  of  Herbert  Spencer.  And 
you — you  only  graduated  at  Yale,  an  old  fogy  medi- 
seval  institution  !  No,  sir  !  not  till  I  meet  a  philoso 
pher  whose  mind  has  been  symmetrically  developed 
can  I  consent  for  my  Emilia  to  marry." 

And  the  old  man  became  so  frantic,  that,  to  save 
him  from  the  madhouse,  Emilia  wrote  a  letter,  at  his 
dictation,  to  young  Brown,  peremptorily  breaking  off 
all  relations ;  and  he,  a  sensitive,  romantic  man,  was 
heartbroken,  and  left  the  village.  He  only  sent  a 
farewell  to  his  friends  the  day  before  he  was  to  sail 
from  New  Bedford  on  a  whaling  voyage.  He  car 
ried  with  him  the  impression  that  an  unaccountable 
change  of  mind  in  Emilia  had  left  no  hope  for  him. 

To  prevent  a  recurrence  of  such  an  untoward  ac 
cident  as  this,  and,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  to  bring  his 
daughter's  mind  into  intimate  relations  with  nature," 
the  fanatical  philosopher  established  the  town  of 


94  DUFFEL& 

Lindsleyville,  determined  that  no  family  in  which 
there  was  a  young  man  should  settle  on  his  town  plot, 
unless,  indeed,  the  young  man  should  prove  to  be  the 
paragon  he  was  looking  for. 

Emilia's  motherless  life  had  not  been  a  cheerful 
one,  subjected  to  the  ever-changing  whims  of  a  vis 
ionary  father,  with  whom  one  of  her  practical  cast  of 
mind  could  have  no  point  of  sympathy.  And  since 
she  came  to  Lindsleyville  it  was  harder  than  ever,  for 
there  was  no  neighbor  nearer  than  Gager's,  ten  miles 
away,  and  there  was  not  a  woman  within  fifty  miles. 
There  is  no  place  so  lonesome  as  a  prairie  ;  the  hori 
zon  is  so  wide,  and  the  earth  is  so  empty  ! 

Lindsley  had  spent  all  his  own  money  long  ago, 
and  it  was  only  the  small  annuity  of  his  daughter, 
inherited  from  her  mother's  family,  the  capital  of 
which  was  tied  up  to  keep  it  out  of  his  reach,  that 
prevented  them  from  starving.  Emilia  was  starving 
indeed,  not  in  body,  but  in  soul.  Cut  off  from  human 
sympathy,  she  used  to  sit  at  the  gable  window  of  the 
cabin  and  look  out  over  the  boundless  meadow  until 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  would  lose  her  reason.  The 
wild  geese  screaming  to  one  another  overhead,  the 
bald  eagles  building  in  the  solitary  elm  that  grew  by 
the  river,  the  flocks  of  great  white  pelicans  that  were 
fishing  on  the  beach  of  Swan  Lake,  three  miles  away, 
were  all  objects  of  envy  to  the  lonesome  heart  of  the 
girl ;  for  they  had  companions  of  their  kind — they 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  95 

were  husbands  and  wives,  and  parents  and  children, 
while  she — here  she  checked  her  thoughts,  lest  she 
should  be  disloyal  to  her  father.  To  her  disordered 
fancy  the  universe  seemed  to  be  a  wheel.  The  sun 
and  the  stars  came  up  and  went  down  over  the  mo 
notonous  sea  of  grass  with  frightful  regularity,  and 
she  could  not  tell  whether  there  was  a  God  or  not. 
"When  she  thought  of  God  at  all,  it  was  as  a  relentless 
giant  turning  the  crank  that  kept  the  sky  going 
round.  The  universe  was  an  awful  machine.  The 
prayers  her  mother  taught  her  in  infancy  died  upon 
her  lips,  and  instead  of  praying  to  God  she  cried  out 
to  her  mother.  Un-protestant  as  the  sentiment  is,  I 
can  not  forbear  saying  that  this  talking  to  the  dead  is 
one  of  the  most  natural  things  in  the  world.  To 
Emilia  the  dimly  remembered  love  of  her  mother 
was  all  of  tenderness  there  was  in  the  universe,  the 
only  revelation  of  God  that  had  come  to  her,  except 
the  other  love,  which  was  to  her  a  paradise  lost. 
For  the  great  hard  fate  that  turned  the  prairie  uni 
verse  round  with  a  crank  motion  had  also — so  it 
seemed  to  her — snatched  away  from  her  the  object  of 
her  love.  This  disordered,  faithless  state  was  all  the 
fruit  she  tasted  of  the  peculiar  education  so  much 
vaunted  by  her  father.  She  had  eaten  the  husks  he 
gave  her  and  was  hungry. 

I  said   she   had  no  company.     An  old   daguerre 
otype  of  her  mother  and  a  carefully  hidden  photo- 


96  DUFFELS. 

graph  unarked  on  the  back,  in  a  rather  immature 
hand,  "  E.  Brown  ")  seemed  to  answer  with  looks  of 
love  and  sympathy  when  she  wetted  them  with  her 
tears.  They  were  her  rosary  and  her  crucifix ;  they 
were  the  gifts  of  a  beclouded  life,  through  which  God 
shone  in  dimly  upon  her. 

This  poor  girl  looked  and  longed  so  for  the  com 
pany  of  human  kind  that  she  counted  those  red-letter 
days  on  which  a  half-breed  voyageur  traveled  over 
the  trail  in  front  of  the  house,  and  even  a  party  of 
begging  and  beggarly  Sioux,  hungry  for  all  they  could 
get  to  eat,  offering  importunately  to  sell  "hompoes" 
(moccasins)  to  lu-r  father,  were  not  wholly  unwel 
come.  But  the  days  of  all  days  were  those  on  which 
I'M  wards,  the  tall,  long-haired  American  trapper, 
fished  in  the  Pomme  de  Terre  in  sight  of  the  Linds- 
ley  cabin.  On  such  occasions  the  old  man  Linds- 
ley  would  leave  his  work  and  stay  about  the  house, 
and  watch  jealously  and  uneasily  every  movement  of 
the  trapper.  On  one  or  two  occasions  when  that 
picturesque  individual,  wearing  a  wolf-skin  cap,  with 
the  wolf's  tail  hanging  down  between  his  shoulders, 
presented  himself  at  the  door  of  the  cabin  to  crave 
some  little  courtesy,  Lindsley  closed  the  front  door 
and  brought  out  the  article  asked  for  from  the  back, 
like  a  mediaeval  chieftain  guarding  his  castle.  But 
all  the  time  that  poor  Emilia  could  hear  the  voice  of 
thu  tall  trapper  her  heart  beat  two  beats  for  one. 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  97 

For  was  it  not  a  human  voice  speaking  her  own  lan 
guage  ?  And  the  days  on  which  he  was  visible  were 
accounted  as  the  gates  of  paradise,  and  the  moments 
in  which  he  spoke  in  her  hearing  were  as  paradise 
itself. 

This  churlish,  inhospitable  manner  made  Lindsley 
many  enemies  in  a  land  in  which  one  can  not  afford  to 
have  enemies.  Every  half-breed  hunter  took  the  old 
man's  suspicious  manner  as  a  personal  affront.  "  He 
thinks  we  are  horse  thieves,"  they  said  scornfully. 
And  Jacques  Bourdon,  the  half-breed  who  had  "  filed 
on  "  the  claim  alongside  Lindsley's,  and  even  claimed 
unjustly  a  "  forty "  of  Lindsley's  town  plot,  had  no 
difficulty  in  securing  the  sympathy  of  the  settlers  and 
nomads,  who  looked  on  Lindsley  as  a  monster  quite 
capable  of  anything.  He  was  even  reported  to  have 
beaten  his  daughter,  and  to  have  confined  her  in  the 
wilderness  that  he  might  keep  her  out  of  an  immense 
fortune  which  she  had  inherited.  So  Lindsley  grew 
every  day  in  disfavor  in  a  region  where  unpopularity 
in  its  mildest  form  is  sure  to  take  a  most  unpleasant 
way  of  making  itself  known.  Emilia  knew  enough  to 
understand  this  danger,  and  she  was  shaken  with  a 
nameless  fear  whenever  she  heard  the  sharp  words 
that  passed  between  her  father  and  Bourdon,  the  half- 
breed.  The  resentment  of  the  latter  reached  its  cli 
max  when  the  decision  of  the  land  office  was  rendered 
in  favor  of  Mr.  Lindsley.  From  that  hour  the  re- 


98  DUFFELS. 

vcnge  of  this  man,  whose  hot  French  was  mixed 
with  relentless  Indian  hlood,  hung  over  the  head  of 
the  old  man,  who  still  read  and  wrote,  and  invented 
and  theorized,  in  utter  ignorance  of  any  peril  except 
the  danger  that  some  man,  not  a  fool,  should  marry 
his  daughter. 

The  Fourth  of  July  was  celebrated  at  Gager's. 
People  came  from  fifty  miles  round.  Patriotism  ? 
No !  but  love  of  human  fellowship.  The  cele 
brated  Pierre  Bottineau  and  the  other  Canadians  and 
half-breeds  were  there,  mellowed  with  drink,  singing 
the  sensual  and  almost  lewd  French  rowing  songs 
their  fathers  had  sung  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  "  Whis 
ky  Jim,"  the  retired  stage  driver,  and  Hans  Brink- 
erhoff  and  the  other  German  settlers,  with  two  or 
three  Yankees,  completed  the  slender  crowd,  which 
comprised  almost  the  entire  population  of  six  skele 
ton  counties.  And  the  ever-popular  Edwards  was 
among  them,  his  grave  face  and  flowing  ringlets 
ri>ing  above  them  all.  A  man  so  ready  to  serve  any 
body  as  he  was  idolized  among  frontiermen,  whose 
gratitude  is  almost  equal  to  their  revenge.  Captain 
Oscar,  the  popular  politician,  who  wore  his  hair  long 
and  swore  and  drank,  just  to  keep  in  with  his  widely 
scattered  constituents,  whom  he  represented  in  the 
Minnesota  Senate  each  winter  (and  who  usually  cast 
half  a  dozen  votes  each  for  him),  made  a  buncombe 
speech,  and  then  Edwards,  who  wouldn't  drink,  but 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  99 

who  knew  liow  to  tell  strange  stories,  kept  them 
laughing  for  half  an  hour.  Edwards  was  a  type  of 
man  not  so  uncommon  on  the  frontier  as  those  im 
agine  who  think  the  trapper  always  a  half -horse,  half- 
alligator  creature,  such  as  they  read  of  in  the  Beadle 
novels.  I  knew  one  trapper  who  was  a  student  of 
numismatics,  another  who  devoted  his  spare  time  to 
astronomy,  and  several  traders  and  trappers  who 
were  men  of  considerable  culture,  though  they  are 
generally  men  who  are  a  little  morbid  or  eccentric  in 
their  mental  structure.  All  Edwards's  natural  abili 
ties,  which  were  sufficient  to  have  earned  him  dis 
tinction  had  he  been  "  in  civilization,"  were  concen 
trated  on  the  pursuits  of  his  wild  life,  and  such  a 
man  always  surpasses  the  coarser  and  duller  Indian 
or  half-breed  in  his  own  field. 

After  a  game  of  ball,  and  other  sports  imitated 
from  the  Indians,  the  ~bois  ~brules*  began  to  be  too 
much  softened  with  whisky  to  keep  up  athletic  exer 
cises,  and  something  in  their  manner  led  Edwards  to 
suspect  that  there  were  other  amusements  on  the  pro 
gramme  into  the  secret  of  which  he  had  not  been  ad 
mitted. 

By  adroit  management  he  contrived  to  overhear 
part  of  a  conversation  in  which  " poudre  a  canon  "  was 
mixed  up  with  the  name  of  Lindsfee.  He  inferred 

*  Bois  brules,  "  burnt  wood,"  is  the  title  the  half-breeds  apply 
to  themselves,  in  allusion  to  their  complexion. 


100  DUFFELS. 

that  the  blowing  up  of  Lindsley's  house  was  to  finish 
the  celebration  of  the  national  holiday.  Treating 
Bourdon  to  an  extra  glass  of  whisky,  and  seasoning  it 
with  some  well-timed  denunciations  of  "  the  old  mon 
ster,"  he  gathered  that  the  plan  was  to  plant  a  keg  of 
powder  under  the  chimney  on  the  north  side  of  the 
cabin  and  blow  it  to  pieces,  just  to  scare  the  monster 
out,  or  kill  him  and  his  daughter,  it  did  not  matter 
which.  Edwards  praised  the  plan.  He  said  that  if  it 
were  not  that  he  had  to  go  to  Pelican  Lake  that  very 
night  he  would  go  along  and  help  blow  up  the  old 
rascal. 

Soon  after  this  he  shook  hands  all  around  and 
wished  them  bon  voyage  in  their  trip  to  Lindsleyville. 
He  winked  his  eyes  knowingly,  playing  the  hypocrite 
handsomely.  Oscar  and  Bottineau  left  in  different 
directions,  the  Germans  had  gone  home  drunk,  and 
only  "  Whisky  Jim  "  joined  the  half-breeds  in  their 
trip.  They  took  possession  of  an  immigrant  team  that 
was  in  Gager's  stable,  and  just  after  sunset  started  on 
their  patriotic  errand.  They  were  going  to  celebrate 
the  Fourth  by  blowing  up  the  tyrant. 

Meantime  Edwards  had  taken  long  strides,  but  his 
moccasin-clad  feet  were  not  carrying  him  in  the  direc 
tion  of  Pelican  Lake.  Half  the  time  walking  as  only 
"  the  long  trapper "  could  walk,  half  the  time  in  a 
swinging  trot,  he  made  the  best  possible  speed  toward 
Lindsleyville.  lie  had  the  start  of  the  half-breeds,  but 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  1Q1 

how  much  he  could  not  tell ;  and  there  was  no  time  to 
be  lost.  At  the  summit  of  every  knoll  he  looked  back 
to  see  if  they  were  coming,  crouching  in  the  grass  lest 
they  should  discover  him. 

Lindsley  received  him  as  suspiciously  as  ever,  and 
positively  refused  to  believe  his  story.  But  by  using 
his  telescope  Edwards  soon  convinced  him  that  the 
party  were  just  leaving  Gager's.  The  dusk  of  the 
evening  was  coming  on,  and  Lindsley's  fright  was 
great  as  he  realized  his  daughter's  peril. 

"  I  will  fight  them  to  the  death,"  he  said,  getting 
down  his  revolver,  with  an  air  that  would  have  done 
honor  to  Don  Quixote. 

"  If  you  fight  them  and  whip  them,  they  will  way 
lay  you  and  kill  you.  But  there  are  ten  of  them,  and 
if  you  fight  them  you  will  be  killed,  and  this  lady  will 
be  without  a  protector.  If  you  run  away,  the  house 
will  be  destroyed,  and  you  will  be  killed  whenever  you 
are  found.  But  what  have  you  here — a  magic  lan 
tern?" 

The  old  gentleman  had,  before  Edwards's  arrival, 
taken  down  the  instrument  to  introduce  some  improve 
ment  which  he  had  just  invented.  When  Edwards 
stumbled  over  it  and  called  it  a  magic  lantern  he  looked 
at  him  scornfully. 

"  A  magic  lantern  !  "  he  cried.  "  No,  sir  ;  that  is 
a  dissolving  view,  oxy-calcium,  panto-sciostereoscop- 
ticon." 


102  DUFFELS. 

"  With  this  we  must  save  you  and  your  daughter 
from  the  half-breeds,"  said  the  trapper,  a  little  impa 
tient  at  this  ill-timed  manifestation  of  pedantry.  "  Get 
ready  for  action  immediately." 

"  I  have  no  oxygen  gas." 

"  Make  it  at  once,"  said  Edwards.  He  picked  up 
some  papers  marked  "chlor.  potass."  and  "black 
oxide." 

"  Here  is  your  material,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  understand  chemistry  ? "  asked  Lindsley. 
But  the  trapper  did  not  answer.  He  got  out  the  re 
tort,  and  in  five  minutes  the  oxygen  was  bubbling  furi 
ously  through  the  wash  bottle  into  the  India-rubber 
receiver.  Edwards  stood  at  the  window  scanning  the 
road  toward  Gager's  with  his  telescope  until  it  grew 
dark,  which  in  that  latitude  was  at  about  ten  o'clock. 
Then  the  magic  lantern  was  removed  to  the  little  grass- 
roofed  stable,  in  which  dwelt  a  solitary  pony,  and  by 
Edwards's  direction  the  focus  was  carefully  set  so  that 
it  would  throw  a  picture  against  the  house.  Edwards 
selected  two  pictures  and  adjusted  them  for  use  in  the 
two  tubes. 

The  half-breeds  were  not  in  haste,  and  in  all  the 
long  hour  of  suspense  Emilia,  hidden  in  the  barn  with 
her  father  and  young  Edwards,  was  positively  happy. 
For  here  was  human  companionship,  and  a  hungry 
soul  will  gladly  risk  death  if  by  that  means  compan 
ionship  can  be  purchased.  It  did  not  matter  either 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  1Q3 

that  conversation  was  out  of  the  question.  It  is  pres 
ence,  and  not  talk,  that  makes  companionship. 

But  hark !  the  bois  brules  are  on  the  bank  of  the 
river  below.  Emilia's  heart  grew  still  as  she  heard 
them  swear.  Their  sacr-r-r-r-re  rolled  like  the  rattle 
of  a  rattlesnake.  They  were  coming  up  the  hill,  quar 
reling  drunkenly  about  the  powder.  Now  they  were 
between  the  house  and  the  stable,  getting  ready  to  dig 
a  hole  for  the  " poudre  d  canon." 

"  I'll  give  them  fireworks !  "  said  Edwards  in  a 
whisper. 

A  picture  of  Thorwaldsen's  bas-relief  of  "  Morn 
ing  "  having  been  previously  placed  in  the  instrument, 
Edwards  now  removed  the  cap,  and  the  beautiful  fly 
ing  female  figure,  with  the  infant  in  her  arms,  shone 
out  upon  the  side  of  the  house  with  marvelous  vivid 
ness. 

"  By  thunder !  "  said  Whisky  Jim,  steadying  him 
self,  while  every  hair  stood  on  end. 

uj£cn  Dieu  !  "  cried  the  bois  brwles,  who  had  never 
seen  a  picture  in  their  lives  except  in  the  cathedral 
of  St.  Boniface,  at  Fort  Garry.  "  Mon  Dieu  !  La 
Sainte  Vierge  !  "  And  they  fell  on  their  knees  before 
this  apparition  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  crossed 
themselves  and  prayed  lustily. 

But  "  Whisky  Jim "  straightened  himself  up, 
and  hiccoughed,  and  stammered  "  By  thunder  ! "  and 
added  some  words  which,  being  Saxon,  I  will  not  print. 


104  DUFFELS. 

"The  devil!"  cried  Jim,  a  minute  later,  starting 
down  the  hill  at  full  speed,  fur,  l>y  Kdwards's  direc 
tion,  the  light  had  been  shifted  to  the  other  tube  in 
such  a  way  as  to  dissolve  the  "  Morning  "  into  a  hide 
ous  picture  of  the  conventional  horned  and  hoofed 
devil.  The  picture  was  originally  meant  to  be  comic, 
but  it  now  set  Jim  to  running  fur  dear  life. 

"  Oui9  Jest  le  diable  !  le  (liable  !  le  didble  !  "  cried 
the  frantic  hot*  /;/•////*.  breaking  off  their  invocations 
to  the  Virgin  most  abruptly,  and  fleeing  pellmell 
down  the  hill  after  Jim,  falling  over  one  another  as 
they  ran.  Quick  as  a  flash  Edwards  threw  about  him 
a  sheet  which  he  had  ready,  and  pursued  the  fleeing 
Frenchmen.  Jim  had  already  seized  the  reins,  and, 
on  the  plan  of  "the  devil  take  the  hindmost,"  was 
driving  at  a  pace  that  would  have  done  him  credit  in 
the  Central  Park,  up  the  trail  toward  Gager's,  leaving 
the  half-breeds  to  get  on  as  best  they  could.  Bourdon 
stumbled  and  fell,  and  Edwards  lavished  some  blows 
upon  him  that  must  have  satisfied  the  bois  brule  that 
ghosts  have  a  most  solid  corporeal  existence. 

Then  Edwards  returned  and  captured  the  keg  of 
powder.  He  assured  the  Lindsleys  that  the  super- 
stitions  half-breeds  would  never  again  venture  within 
live  miles  of  a  house  that  was  guarded  by  the  Holy 
Virgin  and  the  devil  in  partnership.  And  they 
never  did.  Even  the  Indians  were  afraid  to  approach 
the  place,  pronouncing  it  "  Wakan,"  or  supernatu rally 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  105 

inhabited.  They  regarded  Lindsley  as  a  "  medicine 
man  "  of  great  power. 

But  what  a  night  that  was !  For  Edwards  stayed 
two  hours,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  Lindsley  and 
his  daughter.  And  how  he  talked,  while  Emilia 
thought  she  had  never  known  how  heaven  felt  be 
fore  ;  and  the  old  man  forgot  his  inventions,  and  did 
not  broach  more  than  twenty  of  his  theories  in  the 
two  hours.  He  was  so  much  interested  in  the  tall 
trapper  that  he  forgot  the  rest.  Edwards  ate  a  sup 
per  set  out  by  the  hands  of  Emilia,  and  left  at  three 
o'clock.  He  was  at  Pelican  Lake  next  morning,  and 
no  man  suspected  his  share  in  the  affair  except  Gager, 
who  had  sense  enough  to  say  nothing.  And  Emilia 
lay  down  and  dreamed  of  angels  about  the  house. 
One  was  like  Thorwaldsen's  "  Morning,"  and  the 
other  wore  long  hair  and  beard,  and  was  very  tall. 

This  abortive  attempt  to  make  a  skyrocket  out  of 
Lindsley's  cabin  wrought  only  good  to  Emilia  at  first. 
The  father  was  now  wholly  in  love  with  the  trapper. 
He  praised  him  at  all  hours. 

"  He  is  a  philosopher,  my  daughter.  He  under 
stands  chemistry.  He  lives  in  the  arcana  of  nature 
and  reads  her  secrets.  No  foolish  study  of  the  heathen 
classics ;  no  training  after  mediaeval  fashion  in  one 
of  our  colleges,  which  are  anachronisms,  has  perverted 
his  taste.  Here  is  the  Emile  worthy  of  my  Emilia," 
he  would  say,  much  to  the  daughter's  annoyance. 


106  DUFFELS. 

But  when  Edwards  came  the  hours  were  golden. 
Hanging  his  wolf-skin  cap  behind  the  door,  and  shak 
ing  back  his  long  locks  as  he  took  his  seat,  he  would 
entrance  father  and  daughter  alike  with  his  talk  of 
adventure.  From  the  time  of  his  first  visit  new  life 
came  to  the  heart  of  Emilia ;  and  Mr.  Lindsley,  whose 
every  whim  the  trapper  humored,  was  as  much  fasci 
nated  as  his  daughter.  But  now  commenced  a  fierce 
battle  in  the  heart  of  Emilia.  Edwards  loved  her.  By 
all  the  speech  that  his  eyes  were  capable  of,  he  told  her 
so.  And  by  all  the  beating  of  her  own  heart  she  knew 
that  ehe  loved  the  brown-faced,  long-haired  trapper  in 
return.  But  what  about  the  fair-eyed  student,  who  for 
very  love  and  disappointment  had  gone  to  the  arctic 
seas  ?  He  was  not  at  hand  to  plead  his  cause,  and 
for  this  very  reason  her  conscience  pleaded  it  for  him. 
AVhen  her  soul  had  fed  on  the  words  of  the  trapper 
as  upon  manna  in  the  wilderness,  she  took  up  the  old 
photograph  and  the  eyes  reproached  her.  She  shed 
hitter  tears  of  penitence  upon  it  for  her  disloyalty  to 
the  storm-tossed  sailor,  but  rejoiced  again  when  she 
saw  the  tall  figure  of  the  trapper  coming  down  the 
trail.  A  desolate  and  lonely  heart  can  not  live  forever 
on  the  memory  of  a  dead  love.  And  have  ye  not  read 
what  David  did  when  he  was  an  hungered  ?  Do  not, 
therefore,  reproach  a  starving  soul  for  partaking  of 
this  feast  in  the  desert. 

And  so  Emilia  tried  to  believe   that  Brown  was 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  1Q7 

long  since  dead  —  poor  fellow!  She  shed  tears  over 
an  imaginary  grave  in  Labrador  with  a  great  sense  of 
comfort.  She  tried  to  think  that  he  had  long  since 
married  and  forgotten  her,  and  she  endeavored  to 
nurse  some  feeble  pangs  of  jealousy  toward  an  im 
aginary  wife. 

Now  it  was  very  improper,  doubtless,  in  Brown  to 
come  to  life  just  at  this  moment.  One  lover  too 
many  is  as  destructive  to  the  happiness  of  a  conscien 
tious  girl  as  one  too  few.  If  Emilia  had  been  trained 
in  society,  her  joy  at  having  two  lovers  would  have 
had  no  alloy  save  her  grief  that  there  were  not  four 
of  them.  But  it  was  one  of  the  misfortunes  of  her 
solitary  and  peculiar  education  that  she  had  conscience 
and  maidenly  modesty.  Wherefore  it  wras  a  source 
of  bitter  distress  and  embarrassment  to  her  that,  at  the 
end  of  a  long  letter  from  a  neighbor  who  had  taken  a 
notion  after  years  of  silence  to  write  her  all  the  gossip 
of  the  old  village,  she  found  these  words  :  "  Your  old 
friend  Brown  did  not  jump  into  the  sea  at  grief  for 
his  rejection,  after  all.  He  has  written  to  somebody 
here  that  he  is  coming  home.  I  believe  he  said  that 
he  loved  you  all  the  same  as  ever." 

The  greatest  grief  of  Emilia  was  that  she  should 
have  been  so  wicked  as  to  be  grieved.  Had  she  not 
prayed  all  these  years,  when  she  could  pray  at  all,  for 
the  safety  of  the  young  student  ?  Had  she  not  prayed 
against  storms  and  icebergs  ?  And  now  that  he  was 


108  DUFFELS. 

coming,  her  heart  smote  her  as  if  he  were  a  ghost  of 
some  one  whom  she  had  murdered  !  Whither  she 
loved  him,  or  Edwards,  or  anybody,  indeed  she  could 
not  tell.  But  she  would  do  penance  for  her  crime. 
And  so,  when  next  she  heard  the  quiet  voice  of  "the 
long  trapper  "  asking  for  her,  she  refused  to  see  him, 
though  the  refusal  all  but  killed  her. 

Poor  Edwards!  How  he  paced  the  shore  of  Swan 
Lake  all  that  night !  For  when  love  comes  into  the 
soul  of  a  solitary  man  it  has  all  the  force  that  all  the 
thousand  interests  of  life  have  to  one  in  the  busy 
world.  How  terrible  were  the  temptations  that  some 
times  assailed  the  religious  eremites  we  can  never 
guess. 

Sunset  of  the  next  day  found  Edwards  in  the 
Ked  lliver  Valley,  far  on  his  way  toward  Fort  Garry. 
bent  on  spending  the  rest  of  his  life  as  a  "  free 
trader"  in  British  America.  As  for  Emilia,  she  was 
now  in  total  darkness.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the 
moon  had  not  appeared.  Brown  might  be  dead,  or 
she  might  not  love  him,  or  he  might  never  find  her. 
And  she  had  thrown  away  her  paradise,  and  there 
was  only  blackness  left. 

Edwards  had  already  come  within  a  few  miles  of 
< "  «>rgetown,  where  he  was  to  take  passage  in  that 
strangest  of  all  the  craft  that  ever  frightened  away 
the  elk,  the  little  seven-by-nine  steamer  Anson  ^Nor- 
thrup,  when,  as  he  was  striding  desperately  along  the 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  1Q9 

trail,  he  was  suddenly  checked  by  a  thought.  He 
stood  five  minutes  in  indecision,  then  turned  and  be 
gan  to  walk  rapidly  in  the  opposite  direction.  At 
Breckinridge  he  found  a  stage,  and  getting  out  at 
Gager's  he  went  down  the  trail  toward  Lindsley's. 

Now  Davy  Lindsley  had  been  in  a  terrible  state  of 
ferment.  When  he  had  found  the  philosopher,  "  the 
uncontaminated  child  of  Nature,  the  self-educated 
combination  of  civilized  and  savage  man,"  his  daugh 
ter  had  perversely  refused  him,  and  the  old  man  had 
taken  the  disappointment  so  to  heart  that  he  was  in  a 
state  bordering  on  frenzy. 

"  Misfortune  always  pursues  me !  "  he  began,  when 
he  met  Edwards  under  the  hill.  "  Fifty  times  I  have 
been  near  achieving  some  great  result,  and  my  ill  luck 
has  spoiled  it  all.  You  see  me  a  broken-hearted  man. 
To  have  allied  my  family  with  a  child  of  Nature  like 
yourself  would  have  given  me  the  greatest  joy.  But 
—  how  shall  I  express  my  grief  ? "  And  here  the  old 
man  struck  a  pathetically  tragic  attitude  and  drew  out 
his  handkerchief,  weeping  with  a  profound  self-pity. 

"  Mr.  Lindsley,  do  you  know  why  Miss  Lindsley 
has  become  so  suddenly  displeased  with  me?"  asked 
the  trapper,  trembling. 

"Miss  Lindsley,  sir,  is  perverse.  It  is  the  one 
evil  trait  that  my  enlightened  system  of  education, 
drawn  from  Rousseau,  Pestalozzi,  Froebel,  and  Her 
bert  Spencer,  and  combined  by  my  own  genius — it  is 


110  DUFFELS. 

the  one  evil  trait  that  my  sy>tem  lias  failed  to  eradi 
cate.  She  is  perverse.  I  fear,  >ir,  she  is  yet  worship 
ing  the  image  of  a  misguided  youth  who,  filled  and 
pulled  up  with  the  useless  learning  of  the  schools, 
ventured  to  address  her.  I  am  the  most  unfortunate 
of  men." 

"  Mr.  Lindsley,  can  I  see  your  daughter  alone?" 

The  old  man  thought  he  could.  But  she-  was  very 
perverse.  In  truth,  that  very  morning  Emilia  had,  in 
a  sublime  spirit  of  self-immolation,  vowed  that  she 
would  love  none  but  the  long-lo.-t  lover,  and  that  if 
Brown  never  came  back  she  would  die  heroically  de 
voted  to  him,  and  thus  she  had  sacrificed  to  her  con 
science  and  it  was  appeased.  But  right  atop  this  vow 
came  the  request  of  Edwards  for  an  interview.  Was 
ever  a  girl  so  beset?  Could  she  trust  herself?  On 
thinking  it  over  she  was  afraid  not;  so  that  it  was 
only  by  much  persuasion  that  she  was  prevailed  on  to 
grant  the  request. 

"NVhile  Edwards  talked  she  could  but  listen,  fright 
ened  all  the  time  at  the  faintness  of  her  solemn  reso 
lution,  which  had  seemed  so  irrevocable  when  she 
made  it.  He  frankly  demanded  the  reason  for  her 
change  of  conduct  toward  him.  And  she,  like  an 
honest  and  simple-hearted  girl,  told  the  other  l«>\r 
story  with  a  trembling  voice,  while  Edwards  listened 
with  eyes  downca-t. 

"This  was  five  years  ago  ?"  he  a-ked. 


THE   GUNPOWDER  PLOT. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  the  young  man's  name  ?  " 

"  Was  Edward  Brown." 

"  Curious !  I  think,"  he  said  slowly,  pausing  as  if 
to  get  breath  and  keep  his  self-control,  "  I  think,  if 
my  hair  were  cut  off  short  and  parted  on  one  side  as 
Edward  Brown  wore  his,  instead  of  in  the  middle, 
and  if  my  whiskers  were  shaven  off,  and  if  the  tan  of 
five  years'  exposure  were  gone  from  my  face,  and  if  I 
were  five  years  younger,  and  two  inches  shorter,  I 
think —  "  He  paused  here  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Please  say  the  rest  quickly,"  she  said  in  a  faint 
whisper.  For  the  setting  sun  was  streaming  in  at  the 
west  window  upon  the  face  of  the  trapper.  His  hair 
was  thrown  back,  and  he  was  looking  into  her  eyes 
with  a  look  she  had  never  seen  before.  But  he 
dropped  his  head  upon  his  hand  now  and  looked  at 
the  floor. 

"  It  might  be,"  he  spoke  musingly,  "  it  might  be 
that  Edward  Brown  failed  to  reach  his  ship  in  time  at 
New  Bedford,  and  changed  his  mind  and  came  here, 
and  that  after  Emilia  came  he  watched  this  house  day 
and  night  till  his  heart  came  nigh  to  bursting.  But  I 
was  going  to  say,"  he  said,  rousing  himself,  "  that  in 
case  the  years  and  the  tan  and  the  hair  could  be  taken 
off,  and  this  trapper  coat  changed  into  one  of  finer  cut 
and  material,  and  the  name  reversed,  that  Browne 
Edwards,  the  trapper,  would  be  nearer  of  kin  than  a 


1 1  -2  DUFFELS. 

twin  brother  to  Edward  Brown,  the  broken-hearted 
student." 

What  Emilia  did  just  here  I  do  not  know,  and  if 
I  did  I  should  not  tell  you.  To  faint  would  have  been 
the  proper  thing.  But,  poor  girl !  her  education  had 
been  neglected,  and  I  think  she  did  not  faint.  When 
the  old  philosopher  came  in  he  was  charmed  with  the 
situation,  and  that  evening.  when  they  two  walked  to 
gether  on  the  bank  of  the  Pointne  de  Terre,  Emilia 
pointed  to  the  stars,  and  said  :  "  Do  you  know  that  in 
all  these  years  (iud  has  >eemed  to  me  a  cruel  monster 
turning  a  crank  ?  And  to-night  every  star  seems  to 
be  an  eye  through  which  God  is  looking  at  me,  as  my 
mother  used  to.  I  feel  as  though  God  were  loving 
me.  See,  the  stars  are  laughing  in  my  face  !  Now  I 
love  Him  as  I  did  my  mother.  And  to-night  I  am 
going  to  read  that  curious  story  about  Christ  at  the 
wedding." 

For  God,  who  is  love,  loves  to  find  his  way  to  a 
human  heart  through  love.  And  Edwards,  who  had 
been  in  bitterness  and  rebellion  during  the  years  of 
his  exile,  listened  now  to  the  voice  of  love  as  to  that 
of  an  angel  whom  God  had  sent  out  of  heaven  to 
bring  him  back  home  again. 

Mr.  Lindsley  is  an  invalid  now.  Lindsleyville  be 
longs  to  Browne  Edwards  and  his  wife.  And  old 
Davy  has  made  a  will  on  twenty  quires  of  legal  cap, 
bequeathing  to  his  son-in-law  all  his  right,  title,  and 


THE  GUNPOWDER  PLOT.  H3 

interest  in  certain  and  sundry  patents  on  churns,  can 
nons,  beehives,  magic  lanterns,  flying  machines,  etc., 
together  with  some  extraordinary  secret  discoveries. 
The  old  gentleman  is  slowly  dying  in  the  full  con 
viction  that  he  is  bequeathing  the  foundation  of  an 
immense  fortune  to  his  son-in-law,  and  more  wisdom 
to  the  world  than  has  been  contributed  to  its  stock 
by  all  that  have  gone  before.  And  he  often  reminds 
Emilia  that  she  has  to  thank  him  for  getting  so  good 
a  husband.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him  she  might  have 
married  that  sickly  student. 

1871. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE. 

WHEN  my  friend  Capt.  Terrible,  U.  S.  N.,  dines 
at  my  plain  table,  I  am  a  little  abashed.  I  know 
that  he  has  been  accustomed  always  to  a  variety  of 
wines  and  sauces,  to  a  cigarette  after  each  course, 
and  to  cookery  that  would  kill  an  undeveloped 
American.  So,  when  the  captain  turns  the  castor 
round  three  times  before  selecting  his  condiment,  and 
when  his  eyes  seem  to  be  seeking  for  Worcestershire 
sauce  and  Burgundy  wine,  I  feel  the  poverty  of  the 
best  feast  I  can  furnish  him.  I  am  afraid  veteran 
magazine  readers  will  feel  thus  about  the  odd  little 
story  I  have  to  tell.  For  I  have  observed  of  late  that 
even  the  short  stories  are  highly  seasoned;  and  I 
can  not  bear  to  disappoint  readers.  So,  let  me  just 
honestly  write  over  the  gateway  to  this  story  a  warn 
ing.  I  have  no  Cayenne  pepper.  No  Worcestershire 
sauce.  No  cognac.  No  cigarettes.  No  murders. 
No  suicides.  No  broken  hearts.  No  lovers'  quarrels. 
No  angry  father.  No  pistols  and  coffee.  No  arsenic. 
No  laudanum.  No  shrewd  detectives.  No  trial  for 
murder.  No  "  heartless  coquette."  No  "  deep-dyed 
villain  with  a  curling  mustache."  Now  if,  after  this 


THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE.  H5 

warning,  you  have  the  courage  to  go  on,  I  am  not 
responsible. 

Hubert  said  I  might  print  it  if  I  would  disguise 
the  names.  It  came  out  quite  incidentally.  We  were 
discussing  the  woman  question.  I  am  a  "  woman's 
righter."  Hubert — the  Rev.  Hubert  Lee,  I  should 
say,  pastor  of  the  "  First  Church,"  and,  indeed,  the 
only  church  in  Allenville — is  not,  though  I  flatter 
myself  I  have  made  some  impression  on  him.  But 
the  discussion  took  place  in  Hubert's  own  house,  and 
wishing  to  give  a  pleasant  turn  at  the  end,  I  suppose, 
lie  told  me  how,  a  year  and  a  half  before,  he  had 
"  used  up "  one  woman's-rights  man,  who  was  no 
other  than  old  Dr.  Hood,  the  physician  that  has  had 
charge  of  the  physical  health  of  Hubert  and  myself 
from  the  beginning.  Unlike  most  of  his  profession, 
the  doctor  has  always  been  a  radical,  and  even  the 
wealth  that  has  come  in  upon  him  of  late  years  has 
left  him  quite  as  much  of  a  radical,  at  least  in  theory, 
as  ever.  Indeed,  the  old  doctor  is  not  very  inconsist 
ent  in  practice,  for  he  has  educated  his  only  daugh 
ter,  Cornelia,  to  his  own  profession,  and  I  believe  she 
took  her  M.  D.  with  honors,  though  she  lias  lately 
spoiled  her  prospects  by  marrying.  But  socially  he 
has  become  a  little  aristocratic,  seeking  an  exclusive 
association  with  his  wealthy  neighbors.  And  this 
does  not  look  very  well  in  one  who,  when  he  was 
poor,  was  particularly  bitter  on  "  a  purse-proud  aris- 


110  DUFFELS. 

tocracy."  I  suppose  Hubert  felt  this.  Certainly  I 
did,  and  therefore  I  enjoyed  the  conversation  that  he 
repeated  to  me  all  the  more. 

It  seems  that  my  friend  Hubert  had  been  away  at 
the  seminary  for  three  years,  and  that  having  at  last 
conquered  in  his  great  battle  against  poverty,  and 
having  gained  an  education  in  spite  of  difficulties,  and 
having  supplied  a  city  church  acceptably  for  some 
months  during  the  absence  of  the  pastor  in  Europe, 
he  came  back  to  our  native  village  to  rest  on  his  lau 
rels  a  few  week>,  and  to  decide  which  of  three  rather 
impecunious  calls  he  would  accept.  "When  just  about 
to  leave  he  took  it  into  his  head,  for  some  reason,  to 
"  drop  in  "  on  old  Doctor  Hood.  It  was  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  the  doctor's  partner  was  making 
morning  calls,  while  the  old  gentleman  sat  in  his  office 
to  attend  to  any  that  might  seek  his  services.  This 
particular  morning  happened  to  be  an  unfortunate 
one,  for  there  were  no  ague-shaken  patients  to  be 
seen,  and  there  wras  not  even  a  case  of  minor  surgery 
to  relieve  the  tediousness  of  the  morning  office  hour. 
Perhaps  it  was  for  this  reason,  perhaps  it  was  for  the 
sake  of  old  acquaintance,  that  he  gave  Hubert  a  most 
cordial  reception,  and  launched  at  once  into  a  sea  of 
vivacious  talk.  Cornelia,  who  was  in  the  office,  ex 
cused  herself  on  the  ground  that  she  was  cramming 
for  her  final  examination,  and  seated  herself  at  a  win 
dow  with  her  l»«>(,k. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE.  H7 

"I  am  afraid  I  take  your  time,  doctor,"  said 
Hubert. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  giving  up  practice  to  my  partner, 
Dr.  Beck,  and  shall  give  it  all  to  him  in  a  year  or 
two." 

"  To  him  and  Miss  Cornelia  ? "  queried  Hubert, 
laughing.  For  it  was  currently  reported  that  the 
young  doctor  and  Cornelia  were  to  form  a  partner 
ship  in  other  than  professional  affairs. 

Either  because  he  wished  to  attract  her  attention, 
or  for  some  other  reason,  Hubert  soon  managed  to 
turn  the  conversation  to  the  subject  of  woman's  rights, 
and  the  old  doctor  and  the  young  parson  were  soon 
hurling  at  each  other  all  the  staple  and  now  some 
what  stale  arguments  about  woman's  fitness  and 
woman's  unfitness  for  many  things.  At  last,  perhaps 
because  he  was  a  little  cornered,  Hubert  said  : 

"  Now,  doctor,  there  was  a  queer  thing  happened 
to  a  student  in  my  class  in  the  seminary.  I  don't  sup 
pose,  doctor,  that  you  are  much  interested  in  a  love 
story,  but  I  would  just  like  to  tell  you  this  one,  be 
cause  I  think  you  dare  not  apply  your  principles  to 
it  in  every  part.  Theories  often  fail  when  practically 
applied,  you  know." 

'k  Go  on,  Hu,  go  on ;  I'd  like  to  hear  the  story. 
And  as  for  my  principles,  they'll  bear  applying  any 
where  ! "  and  the  old  doctor  rubbed  his  hands  together 
confidently. 


118  DUFFELS. 

"This  friend  of  mine,  Henry  Gilbert,"  said  I  In, 
"  was,  like  myself,  poor.  A  long  time  ago,  when  he 
was  a  boy,  the  son  of  a  poor  widow,  the  lot  on  which 
he  lived  joined  at  the  back  the  lot  on  which  lived 
a  Mr.  Morton,  at  that  time  a  thriving  merchant,  now 
the  principal  capitalist  in  that  part  of  the  country. 
As  there  was  a  back  gate  between  the  lots,  my  friend 
was  the  constant  playmate  from  earliest  childhood  of 
Jennie  Morton.  He  built  her  playhouses  out  of  old 
boards,  he  molded  clay  bricks  for  her  use,  and  carved 
tiny  toys  out  of  pine  blocks  for  her  amusement.  As 
he  grew  larger,  and  as  Jennie's  father  grew  richer 
and  came  to  live  in  greater  style,  Henry  grew  more 
shy.  But  by  all  the  unspoken  language  of  the  eyes 
the  two  never  failed  to  make  their  unchanging  regard 
known  to  each  other. 

"  Henry  went  to  college  early.  At  vacation  time 
the  two  met.  But  the  growing  difference  in  their 
social  position  could  not  but  be  felt.  Jennie's  friends 
were  of  a  different  race  from  his  own.  Her  parents 
never  thought  of  inviting  him  to  their  entertainments. 
And  if  they  had,  a  rusty  coat  and  a  lack  of  money  to 
spend  on  kid  gloves  would  have  effectually  kept  him 
away.  He  was  proud.  This  apparent  neglect  stiniir 
him.  It  is  true  that  Jennie  M««rt.»n  was  all  the  more 
kind.  But  his  quick  and  foolish  pride  made  him 
fancy  that  he  detected  pity  in  her  kindness.  And 
yet  all  this  only  made  him  determined  to  place  him- 


THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE.  U9 

self  in  a  position  in  which  he  could  ask  her  hand  as 
her  equal.  But  you  do  not  understand,  doctor,  as  I 
do,  how  irresistible  is  this  conviction  of  duty  in  re 
gard  to  the  ministry.  Under  that  pressure  my  friend 
settled  it  that  he  must  preach.  And  now  there  was 
bef ore  him  a  good  ten  years  of  poverty  at  least.  What 
should  he  do  about  it  ? 

"  In  his  extremity  he  took  advice  of  a  favorite  the 
ological  professor.  The  professor  advised  him  not  to 
seek  the  hand  of  a  rich  girl.  She  would  not  be  suited 
to  the  trials  of  a  minister's  life.  But  finding  that 
Henry  was  firm  in  his  opinion  that  this  sound  gen 
eral  principle  did  not  in  the  least  apply  to  this  par 
ticular  case,  the  professor  proceeded  to  touch  the  ten- 
derest  chord  in  the  young  man's  heart.  He  told  him 
that  it  would  be  ungenerous,  and  in  some  sense  dis 
honorable,  for  him  to  take  a  woman  delicately  brought 
up  into  the  poverty  and  trial  incident  to  a  minister's 
life.  If  you  understood,  sir,  how  morbid  his  sense  of 
honor  is,  you  would  not  wonder  at  the  impression 
this  suggestion  made  upon  him.  To  give  up  the  min 
istry  was  in  his  mind  to  be  a  traitor  to  duty  and  to 
God.  To  win  her,  if  he  could,  was  to  treat  ungener 
ously  her  whose  happiness  was  dearer  to  him  a  thou 
sand  times  than  his  own." 

"  I  hope  he  did  not  give  her  up,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  he  gave  her  up,  in  a  double  spirit  of  mediaeval 
self-sacrifice.  Looking  toward  the  ministry,  he  sur- 


120  DUFFELS. 

rendered  his  love  as  some  of  the  old  monks  sacrificed 
love,  ambition,  and  all  other  things  to  conscience. 
Looking  at  her  happiness,  he  sacrificed  his  hopes  in 
a  mniv  than  knightly  devotion  to  her  welfare.  The 
knights  sometimes  gave  their  lives.  He  gave  more. 

"For  three  years  he  did  not  trust  himself  to  re 
turn  to  his  home.  But,  having  graduated  and  K-ttled 
himself  for  nine  months  over  a  church,  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  shouldn't  go  to  see  his  mother  again  ; 
and  once  in  the  village,  the  sight  of  the  old  school- 
house  and  the  old  church  revived  a  thousand  mem 
ories  that  he  had  been  endeavoring  to  banish.  The 
garden  walks,  and  especially  the  apple  trees,  that  are 
the  most  unchangeable  of  landmarks,  revived  the  old 
passion  with  nndiminished  power.  He  paced  his  room 
at  night.  He  looked  out  at  the  new  house  of  his  rich 
neighbor.  He  chafed  under  the  restraint  of  his  vow 
not  to  think  again  of  Jennie  Morton.  It  was  the  old 
story  of  the  monk  who  thinks  the  world  subdued,  but 
who  finds  it  all  at  once  about  to  assume  the  mastery  of 
him.  I  do  not  know  how  the  struggle  might  have 
ended,  but  it  was  all  at  once  stopped  from  without. 

"There  reached  him  a  rumor  that  Jennie  was 
already  the  betrothed  wife  of  a  Colonel  Pearson,  who 
Wftf  her  father's  partner  in  business.  And,  indeed, 
Colonel  Pearson  went  in  and  out  at  Mr.  Morton's  gate 
every  evening,  and  the  father  was  known  to  favor  his 
suit. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE. 

"  Jennie  was  not  engaged  to  him,  however.  Three 
times  she  had  refused  him.  The  fourth  time,  in  def 
erence  to  her  father's  wishes,  she  had  consented  to 
4  think  about  it'  for  a  week.  In  truth,  Henry  had 
been  at  home  ten  days  and  had  not  called  upon  her, 
and  all  the  hope  she  had  cherished  in  that  direction, 
and  all  the  weary  waiting,  seemed  in  vain.  When  the 
colonel's  week  was  nearly  out  she  heard  that  Henry 
was  to  leave  in  two  days.  In  a  sort  of  desperation 
she  determined  to  accept  Colonel  Pearson  without 
waiting  for  the  time  appointed  for  her  answer.  But 
that  gentleman  spoiled  it  all  by  his  own  overconfi- 
dence. 

"  For  when  he  called,  after  Jennie  had  determined 
on  this  course,  he  found  her  so  full  of  kindness  that 
he  hardly  knew  how  to  behave  with  moderation.  And 
so  he  fell  to  flattering  her,  and  flattering  himself  at 
the  same  time  that  he  knew  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  a 
girl's  heart,  he  complimented  her  on  the  many  offers 
she  had  received. 

" '  And  I  tell  you  what,'  he  proceeded,  '  there  are 
plenty  of  others  that  would  lay  their  heads  at  your 
feet  if  they  were  only  your  equals.  There's  that 
young  parson — Gilbert,  I  think  they  call  him — that  is 
visiting  his  mother  in  the  unpainted  and  threadbare- 
looking  little  house  that  stands  behind  this  one.  I've 
actually  seen  that  fellow,  in  his  rusty,  musty  coat,  stop 
and  look  after  you  on  the  street ;  and  every  night,  when 


122  DUFFELS. 

I  go  home,  he  is  sitting  at  the  window  that  looks  over 
this  way.  The  poor  fool  is  in  love  with  you.  Only 
think  of  it!  And  I  chuckle  to  myself  when  I  see 
him,  and  say,  "  Don't  you  wish  you  could  reach  so 
high  ? "  I  declare,  it's  funny.' 

"  In  that  one  speech  Colonel  Pearson  dashed  his 
chances  to  pieces.  He  could  not  account  for  the  sud 
den  return  of  winter  in  Jennie  Morton's  manner.  And 
all  his  sunshine  was  powerless  to  dispel  it,  or  to  bring 
back  the  least  approach  of  spring. 

"  Poor  Jennie  !  You  can  imagine,  doctor,  how  she 
paced  the  floor  all  that  night.  She  began  to  under 
stand  something  of  the  courage  of  Henry  Gilbert's 
heart,  and  something  of  the  manliness  of  his  motives. 
All  night  long  she  watched  the  light  burning  in  the 
room  in  the  widow's  house  ;  and  all  night  long  she 
debated  the  matter  until  her  head  ached.  She  could 
reach  but  one  conclusion  :  Henry  was  to  leave  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  If  any  communication  should  ever 
be  opened  between  them  she  must  begin  it.  It  was  as 
if  she  had  seen  him  drifting  away  from  her  forever, 
and  must  throw  him  a  rope.  I  think  even  such  a 
woman's-right  man  as  yourself  would  hardly  justify 
her,  however,  in  taking  any  step  of  the  kind." 

"I  certainly  should,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  But  she  could  not  find  a  way — she  had  no  rope 
to  throw.  Again  the  colonel,  meaning  to  do  anything 
else  but  that,  opened  the  way.  At  the  breakfast  table 


THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE.  123 

the  next  morning  she  received  from  him  a  magnifi 
cent  valentine.  All  at  once  she  saw  her  method.  It 
was  St.  Valentine's  day.  The  rope  was  in  her  hand. 
Excusing  herself  from  breakfast  she  hastened  to  her 
room. 

"  To  send  a  valentine  to  the  faithful  lover  was  the 
uppermost  thought.  But  how  ?  She  dare  not  write 
her  name,  for,  after  all,  she  might  be  mistaken  in 
counting  on  his  love,  or  she  might  offend  his  preju 
dices  or  his  pride  by  so  direct  an  approach.  She 
went  fumbling  in  a  drawer  for  stationery.  She  drew 
out  a  little  pine  boat  that  Henry  had  whittled  for  her 
many  years  before.  He  had  named  it  '  Hope,'  but  the 
combined  wisdom  of  the  little  boy  and  girl  could  not 
succeed  in  spelling  the  name  correctly.  And  here 
was  the  little  old  boat  that  he  had  given,  saying  often 
afterward  that  it  was  the  boat  they  two  were  going  to 
sail  in  some  day.  The  misspelt  name  had  been  the 
subject  of  many  a  laugh  between  them.  I^ow — but  I 
mustn't  be  sentimental. 

"  It  did  not  take  Jennie  long  to  draw  an  exact 
likeness  of  the  little  craft.  And  that  there  might  be 
no  mistake  about  it,  she  spelled  the  name  as  it  was  on 
the  side  of  the  boat : 

" <  HOAP.' 

"There  was  not  another  word  in  the  valentine. 
Sealing  it  up,  she  hurried  out  with  it  and  dropped  it 
in  the  post  office.  ISTo  merchant,  sending  all  his  for- 


124:  DUFFELS. 

tune  to  sea  in  one  frail  bark,  ever  watched  the  depar 
ture  and  trembled  for  the  result  of  venture  as  she  did. 
Spain  did  not  pray  half  so  fervently  when  the  invin 
cible  armada  sailed.  It  was  an  unuttered  prayer — an 
unutterable  prayer.  For  heart  and  hope  were  the  lad 
ing  of  the  little  picture  boat  that  sailed  out  that  day, 
with  no  wind  but  her  wishes  in  its  sails. 

"  She  sat  down  at  her  window  until  she  saw  Henry 
Gilbert  pass  the  next  street  corner  on  his  morning 
walk  to  the  post  office.  Three  minutes  after,  he  went 
home,  evidently  in  a  great  state  of  excitement,  with 
her  valentine  open  in  his  hand.  After  a  while  he 
went  back  again  toward  the  post  office,  and  returned. 
Ilad  he  taken  a  reply  ? 

"Jennie  again  sought  the  office.  There  were 
people  all  around,  with  those  hideous  things  that  tin -v 
call  comic  valentines  open  in  their  hands.  And  they 
actually  seemed  to  think  them  funny  !  She  had  a  re 
ply.  It  did  not  take  her  long  to  find  her  room  and 
to  open  it.  There  was  another  picture  of  a  boat,  but 
the  name  on  its  side  read  '  DESPAIR.'  And  these 
words  were  added  :  'Your  boat  is  the  ])l«i*<t/tt>  *t,  but 
understanding  that  there  was  no  vacant  y ////•/•  UJWH  it, 
I  have  been  obliged  to  take  passa<j<  <>n  ////V  Slowly 
the  meaning  forced  itself  upon  her.  Ih-nry  had  fears 
that  she  whom  he  thought  engaged  was  coquet  ing 
with  him.  I  think,  doctor,  you  will  hardly  justify 
her  in  proceeding  further  with  the  correspondence?" 


THE  STORY  OF  A   VALENTINE.  125 

"  Why  not  ?  Hasn't  a  woman  as  much  right  to 
make  herself  understood  in  such  a  matter  as  a  man  ? 
And  when  the  social  advantages  are  on  her  side  the 
burden  of  making  the  advances  often  falls  upon  her. 
Many  women  do  it  indirectly  and  are  not  censured." 

"  Well,  you  know  I'm  conservative,  doctor,  but 
I'm  glad  you're  consistent.  She  did  send  another 
valentine.  I  am  afraid  she  strained  this  figure  of 
speech  about  the  boat.  But  when  everything  in  the 
world  depends  on  one  metaphor,  it  will  not  do  to  be 
fastidious.  Jennie  drew  again  the  little  boat  with 
misspelt  name.  And  this  time  she  added  five  words  : 
'  The  master's  place  is  vacant? 

"  And  quite  late  in  the  afternoon  the  reply  was 
left  at  the  door  :  '  I  am  an  applicant  for  the  vacant 
place,  if  you  will  take  that  of  master's  mate.''  r 

"  Good  !  "  cried  the  doctor  ;  "  I  always  advocated 
giving  women  every  liberty  in  these  matters." 

"  But  I  will  stump  you  yet,  doctor,"  said  Hubert. 
"  That  evening  Gough  was  to  lecture  in  the  village, 
and  my  friend  went  not  to  hear  Gough  but  to  see 
Miss  Jennie  Morton  at  a  distance.  Somehow  in  the 
stupefaction  of  revived  hope  he  had  not  thought  of 
going  to  the  house  to  see  her  yet.  He  had  postponed 
his  departure  and  had  thrown  away  his  scruples. 
Knowing  how  much  opposition  he  would  have  to  con 
tend  with,  he  thought — if  he  thought  at  all — that  he 
must  proceed  with  caution.  But  some  time  after  the 


126  DUFFELS. 

lecture  began  be  discovered  the  Morton  family  with 
out  Jennie !  Slowly  it  all  dawned  upon  him.  She 
was  at  home  waiting  for  him.  lie  was  near  the  front 
of  the  church  in  which  the  lecture  was  held,  and  every 
inch  of  aisle  was  full  of  people.  To  get  out  was  not 
easy.  But  as  he  thought  of  Jennie  waiting,  it  became 
a  matter  of  life  and  death.  If  the  house  had  been  on 
fire  he  would  not  have  been  more  intent  on  making 
his  exit.  He  reached  the  door,  he  passed  the  hap 
piest  evening  of  his  life,  only  to  awake  to  sorrow,  for 
Jennie's  father  is  'dead  set'  against  the  match." 

"  He  has  no  right  to  interfere,"  said  the  doctor 
vehemently.  "  You  see,  I  stand  by  my  principles." 

"  But  if  I  tell  the  story  out  I  am  afraid  you  would 
not,"  said  Hubert. 

"  Why,  isn't  it  done  ? " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  doctor,  for  having  used  a  lit 
tle  craft.  I  had  much  at  stake.  I  have  disguised  this 
story  in  its  details.  But  it  is  true,  I  am  the  hero — " 

The  doctor  looked  quickly  towards  his  daughter. 
Her  head  was  bent  low  over  her  book.  Her  long 
hair  hung  about  it  like  a  curtain,  shutting  out  all  view 
of  the  face.  The  doctor  walked  to  the  other  window 
and  looked  out.  Hubert  sat  like  a  mummy.  After  a 
minute  Dr.  Hood  spoke. 

"Cornelia!" 

She  lifted  a  face  that  was  aflame.  Tears  glistened  in 
her  eyes,  and  I  doubt  not  there  was  a  prayer  in  her  heart. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  VALENTINE.  127 

"  You  are  a  brave  girl.  I  bad  otber  plans.  You 
bave  a  rigbt  to  cboose  for  yourself.  God  bless  you 
botb  !  But  it's  a  great  pity  Hu  is  not  a  lawyer ;  he 
pleads  well."  So  saying  he  put  on  his  hat  and  walked 
out. 

This  is  the  conversation  that  Hubert  repeated  to 
me  that  day  sitting  in  his  own  little  parsonage  in 
Allenville.  A  minute  after  his  wife  came  in.  She 
had  been  prescribing  for  the  minor  ailments  of  some 
poor  neighbors.  She  took  the  baby  from  her  crib, 
and  bent  over  her  till  that  same  long  hair  curtained 
mother  and  child  from  sight. 

"  I  think,"  said  Hubert,  "  that  you  folks  who  write 
love  stories  make  a  great  mistake  in  stopping  at  mar 
riage.  The  honeymoon  never  truly  begins  until  con 
jugal  affection  is  enriched  by  this  holy  partnership  of 
loving  hearts  in  the  life  of  a  child.  The  climax  of  a 
love  story  is  not  the  wedding.  It  is  the  baby  !  " 

"  What  do  you  call  her  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Hope,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Hope  Valentine,"  added  the  father,  with  a  sig 
nificant  smile. 

"And  you  spell  the  Hope  with  an  '  a,'  I  believe," 
I  said. 

"  You  naughty  Hu !  "  said  Mrs.  Cornelia.  "  You've 
been  telling.  You  think  that  love  story  is  interesting 
to  others  because  you  enjoy  it  so  much !  " 

1871. 


IIULDAII,  THE  HELP* 

A  THANKSGIVING    LOVE    STORY. 

I  REMEMIJER  a  story  that  Judge  Balcom  told  a  few- 
years  ago  on  the  afternoon  of  Thanksgiving  Day.  I 
do  not  feel  sure  that  it  will  interest  everybody  as  it 
did  me.  Indeed,  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  not,  and  yet 
I  can  not  help  thinking  that  it  is  just  the  sort  of  a 
trifle  that  will  go  well  with  turkey,  celery,  and 
mince  pie. 

It  was  in  the  judge's  own  mansion  on  Thirty- 
fourth  Street  that  I  heard  it.  It  does  not  matter  to 
the  reader  how  I,  a  stranger,  came  to  be  one  of  that 
family  party.  Since  I  could  not  enjoy  the  society  of 
my  own  family,  it  was  an  act  of  Christian  charity 

*  This  is  the  first  story  written  by  mo,  taynml  ft  few  juvenile 
tales;  and  it  was  the  first  short  story  to  appear  in  Srrilmer's 
Monthly,  the  present  Century  Ma-a/ine.  Mr.  (Jilder,  then  asso 
ciated  with  Dr.  Holland  in  editing  that  newborn  periodical, 
Itemed  me  to  write  u  slmrt  >tory  for  the  second  number  of  t Ill- 
magazine.  I  told  him  that  something  Helps  had  written  sug 
gested  that  a  story  might  be  devi>»-d  in  which  the  hero  should 
marry  a  servant.  He  said  it  couldn't  be  done,  and  I  wrote  this. 
on  a  wager,  as  it  were.  But  a  "help"  is  not  a  servant  The 
popularity  of  this  story  encouraged  me  to  continue,  but  I  can  not 
now  account  for  the  popularity  of  the  story. 


HULDAII,  THE  HELP.  129 

that  permitted  me  to  share  the  joy  of  others.  "We 
had  eaten  dinner  and  had  adjourned  to  the  warm, 
bright  parlor.  .  I  have  noticed  on  such  occasions  that 
conversation  is  apt  to  flag  after  dinner.  Whether  it 
is  that  digestion  absorbs  all  of  one's  vitality,  or  for 
some  other  reason,  at  least  so  it  generally  falls  out, 
that  people  may  talk  ever  so  brilliantly  at  the  table, 
but  they  will  hardly  keep  it  up  for  the  first  half-hour 
afterward.  And  so  it  happened  that  some  of  the 
party  fell  to  looking  at  the  books,  and  some  to  turn 
ing  the  leaves  of  the  photograph  album,  while  others 
were  using  the  stereoscope.  For  my  own  part,  I  was 
staring  at  an  engraving  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  parlor, 
where  I  could  not  have  made  out  much  of  its  purpose 
if  I  had  desired,  but  in  reality  I  was  thinking  of  the 
joyous  company  of  my  own  kith  and  kin,  hundreds  of 
miles  away,  and  regretting  that  I  could  not  be  with 
them. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  papa  ? "  asked 
Irene,  the  judge's  second  daughter. 

She  was  a  rather  haughty-looking  girl  of  sixteen, 
but,  as  I  had  noticed,  very  much  devoted  to  her  par 
ents.  At  this  moment  she  was  running  her  hand 
through  her  father's  hair,  while  he  was  rousing  him 
self  from  his  revery  to  answer  her  question. 

"  Thinking  of  the  old  Thanksgivings,  which  were 
so  different  from  anything  we  have  here.  They  were 
the  genuine  thing ;  these  are  only  counterfeits." 


130  DUFFELS. 

"  Come,  tell  us  about  them,  please."  This  time  it 
was  Annie  Balcom,  the  elder  girl,  who  spoke.  And 
we  all  gathered  round  the  judge.  For  I  notice  that 
when  conversation  does  revive,  after  that  period  of 
silence  that  follows  dinner,  it  is  very  attractive  to  the 
whole  company,  and  in  whatsoever  place  it  breaks 
out  there  is  soon  a  knot  of  interested  listeners. 

"  I  don't  just  now  think  of  any  particular  story 
of  New  England  Thanksgivings  that  would  interest 
you,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Tell  them  about  Huldah's  mince  pie,"  said  Mrs. 
Balcom,  as  she  looked  up  from  a  copy  of  Whittier 
she  had  been  reading. 

I  can  not  pretend  to  give  the  story  which  follows 
exactly  in  the  judge's  words,  for  it  is  three  years 
since  I  heard  it,  but  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember  it 
was  as  follows : 

There  was  a  young  lawyer  named  John  Harlow 
practicing  law  here  in  New  York  twenty  odd  years 
ago.  His  father  lived  not  very  far  from  my  father. 
John  had  been  graduated  with  honors,  had  studied 
law,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  enter  immediately 
into  a  partnership  with  his  law  preceptor,  ex-Go v. 
Blank.  So  eagerly  had  he  pursued  his  studies  that 
for  two  years  he  had  not  seen  his  country  home. 
I  think  one  reason  why  he  had  not  cared  to  visit  it 
was  that  his  mother  was  dead,  and  his  only  sister  was 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP.  131 

married  and  living  in  Boston.  Take  the  "  women 
folks"  out  of  a  house,  and  it  never  seems  much  like 
home  to  a  young  man. 

But  now,  as  Thanksgiving  day  drew  near,  he  re 
solved  to  give  himself  a  brief  release  from  the  bond 
age  of  books.  He  told  his  partner  that  he  wanted  to 
go  home  for  a  week.  He  said  he  wanted  to  see  his 
father  and  the  boys,  and  his  sister,  who  was  coining 
home  at  that  time,  but  that  he  specially  wanted  to 
ride  old  Bob  to  the  brook  once  more,  and  to  milk 
Cherry  again,  just  to  see  how  it  felt  to  be  a  farmer's 
boy. 

"  John,"  said  the  old  lawyer,  "  be  sure  you  fix  up 
a  match  with  some  of  those  country  girls.  No  man  is 
fit  for  anything  till  he  is  well  married ;  and  you  are 
now  able,  with  economy,  to  support  a  wife.  Mind  you 
get  one  of  those  country  girls.  These  paste  and  pow 
der  people  here  aren't  fit  for  a  young  man  who  wants 
a  woman." 

"  Governor,"  said  the  young  lawyer,  laying  his 
boots  gracefully  up  on  top  of  a  pile  of  law  books,  as 
if  to  encourage  reflection  by  giving  his  head  the  ad 
vantage  of  the  lower  end  of  the  inclined  plane, 
"  Governor,  I  don't  know  anything  about  city  girls. 
I  have  given  myself  to  my  books.  But  I  must  have 
a  wife  that  is  literary,  like  myself — one  that  can 
understand  Emerson,  for  instance." 

The  old  lawyer  laughed.     "  John,"  he  answered, 


1;>,L)  DUFFELS. 

"  the  worst  mistake  you  can  make  is  to  marry  a 
woman  just  like  yourself  in  taste.  You  don't  want  to 
marry  a  woman's  head,  but  her  heart." 

John  defended  his  theory,  and  the  governor  only 
remarked  that  he  would  be  cured  of  that  sooner  or 
later,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 

The  next  morning  John  had  a  letter  from  his 
sister.  Part  of  it  ran  about  thus : 

"I've  concluded,  old  fellow,  that  if  you  don't 
marry  you'll  dry  up  and  turn  to  parchment.  I'm 
going  to  bring  home  with  me  the  smartest  girl  I 
know.  She  reads  Carlyle,  and  quotes  Goethe,  and 
understands  Emerson.  Of  course  she  don't  know 
what  I  am  up  to,  but  you  must  prepare  to  capitulate." 

John  did  not  like  Amanda's  assuming  to  pick  a 
wife  for  him,  but  he  did  like  the  prospect  of  meeting 
a  clever  girl,  and  he  opened  the  letter  again  to  make 
sure  that  he  had  not  misunderstood.  He  read  again, 
"  understands  Emerson."  John  was  pleased.  Why  ? 
I  think  I  can  divine.  John  was  vain  of  his  own 
abilities,  and  he  wanted  a  woman  that  could  appre 
ciate  him.  He  would  have  told  you  that  he  wanted 
congenial  society.  But  congenial  female  society  to 
an  ambitious  man  whose  heart  is  yet  untouched  is 
only  society  that,  in  some  sense,  understands  his 
greatness  and  admires  his  wisdom. 

In  the  old  home  they  were  looking  for  the  son. 
The  family  proper  consisted  of  the  father,  good  Dea- 


HULDAH,  THE   HELP.  133 

con  Harlow,  John's  two  brothers,  ten  and  twelve  years 
old,  and  Huldah,  the  "help."  This  last  was  the 
daughter  of  a  neighboring  farmer  who  was  poor  and 
hopelessly  rheumatic,  and  most  of  the  daughter's  hard 
earnings  went  to  eke  out  the  scanty  subsistence  at 
home.  Aunt  Judith,  the  sister  of  John's  mother, 
"  looked  after "  the  household  affairs  of  her  brother- 
in-law,  by  coming  over  once  a  week  and  helping  Hul 
dah  darn  and  mend  and  make,  and  by  giving  Huldah 
such  advice  as  her  inexperience  was  supposed  to  re 
quire.  But  now  Deacon  Harlow's  daughter  had  left 
her  husband  to  eat  his  turkey  alone  in  Boston,  and  had 
brought  her  two  children  home  to  receive  the  pater 
nal  blessing.  Not  that  Mrs.  Amanda  Holmes  had  the 
paternal  blessing  chiefly  in  view  in  her  trip.  She  had 
brought  with  her  a  very  dear  friend,  Miss  Janet  Dun- 
ton,  the  accomplished  teacher  in  the  Mount  Parnas 
sus  Female  Seminary.  Why  Miss  Janet  Dunton 
came  to  the  country  with  her  friend  she  could  hardly 
have  told.  Not  a  word  had  Mrs.  Holmes  spoken  to 
her  on  the  subject  of  the  matrimonial  scheme.  She 
would  have  resented  any  allusion  to  such  a  project. 
She  would  have  repelled  any  insinuation  that  she  had 
ever  dreamed  that  marriage  was  desirable  under  any 
conceivable  circumstances.  It  is  a  way  wre  have  of 
teaching  girls  to  lie.  We  educate  them  to  catch  hus 
bands.  Every  superadded  accomplishment  is  put  on 
with  the  distinct  understanding  that  its  sole  use  is  to 


134  DUFFELS. 

make  the  goods  more  marketable.  We  get  tip  parties, 
we  go  to  watering  places,  we  buy  dresses,  we  refurnish 
our  houses,  to  help  our  girls  to  a  good  match.  And 
then  we  teach  them  to  abhor  the  awful  wickedness  of 
ever  confessing  the  great  desire  that  nature  and  edu 
cation  have  combined  to  make  the  chief  longing  of 
their  hearts.  We  train  them  to  lie  to  us,  their  train 
ers  ;  we  train  them  to  lie  to  themselves ;  to  be  false 
with  everybody  on  this  subject ;  to  say  "  no "  when 
they  mean  "  yes  "  ;  to  deny  an  engagement  wrhen  they 
are  dying  to  boast  of  it.  It  is  one  of  the  refinements 
of  Christian  civilization  which  we  pray  the  Women's 
Missionary  Society  not  to  communicate  to  poor  igno 
rant  heathens  who  know  no  better  than  to  tell  the 
truth  about  these  things. 

But,  before  I  digressed  into  that  line  of  remark,  I 
was  saying  that  Miss  Janet  Dunton  would  have  re 
sented  the  most  remote  suggestion  of  marriage.  She 
often  declared  sentimentally  that  she  was  wedded  to 
her  books,  and  loved  her  leisure,  and  was  determined 
to  be  an  old  maid.  And  all  the  time  this  sincere 
Christian  girl  was  dying  to  confer  herself  upon  some 
worthy  man  of  congenial  tastes ;  which  meant,  in  her 
case,  just  what  it  did  in  John  Harlow's — some  one 
who  could  admire  her  attainments.  But,  sensitive  as 
she  was  to  any  imputation  of  a  desire  to  marry,  she 

!  Mrs.  Holmes  understood  each  other  distinctly. 
Tin-re  is  a  freemasonry  of  women,  and  these  two 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP.  135 

had  made  signs.  They  had  talked  about  in  this 
wise : 

Mrs.  Holmes. — My  dear  Janet,  you'll  find  my 
brother  a  bear  in  manners,  I  fear.  I  wish  he  would 
marry.  I  hope  you  won't  break  his  heart,  for  I 
know  you  wouldn't  have  him. 

Miss  Dunton. — You  know  my  views  on  that  sub 
ject,  my  dear.  I  love  books,  and  shall  marry  nobody. 
Besides,  your  brother's  great  legal  and  literary  attain 
ments  would  frighten  such  a  poor  little  mouse  as  I  am. 

And  in  saying  those  words  they  had  managed  to 
say  that  John  Ilarlow  was  an  unsophisticated  student, 
and  that  they  would  run  him  down  between  them. 

Mrs.  Holmes  and  her  friend  had  arrived  twenty- 
four  hours  ahead  of  John,  and  the  daughter  of  the 
house  had  already  installed  herself  as  temporary  mis 
tress  by  thoughtlessly  upsetting,  reversing,  and  turn 
ing  inside  out  all  the  good  Huldah's  most  cherished 
arrangements.  All  the  plans  for  the  annual  festi 
val  that  wise  and  practical  Huldah  had  entertained 
were  vetoed,  without  a  thought  that  this  young  girl 
had  been  for  a  year  and  a  half  in  actual  authority 
in  the  house,  and  might  have  some  feeling  of  wrong 
in  having  a  guest  of  a  week  overturn  her  plans  for 
the  next  month.  But  Mrs.  Holmes  was  not  one  of 
the  kind  to  think  of  that.  Huldah  was  hired  and 
paid,  and  she  never  dreamed  that  hired  people  could 
have  any  interests  in  their  work  or  their  home  other 


136  DUFFELS. 

than  their  pay  and  their  food.  But  lluldah  was  pa 
tient,  though  she  confessed  that  she  had  a  feeling  that 
she  had  been  rudely  "  trampled  all  over."  I  suspect  she 
had  a  good  cry  at  the  end  of  the  first  day.  I  can  not 
allirm  it,  except  from  a  general  knowledge  of  women. 

When  John  drove  up  in  the  buggy  that  the  boys 
had  taken  to  the  depot  for  him  his  first  care  was  to 
shake  hands  with  the  deacon,  who  wras  glad  to  see  him, 
but  could  not  forbear  expressing  a  hope  that  he  would 
"  shave  that  hair  off  his  upper  lip."  Then  John 
greeted  his  sister  cordially,  and  was  presented  to  Miss 
Dunton.  Instead  of  sitting  down,  he  pushed  right 
on  into  the  kitchen,  where  lluldah,  in  a  calico  frock 
and  a  clean  white  apron,  was  baking  biscuit  for  tea. 
She  had  been  a  schoolmate  of  his,  and  he  took  her 
hand  cordially  as  she  stood  there,  with  the  bright 
western  sun  half-glorifying  her  head  and  face. 

"  Why,  lluldah,  how  you've  grown ! "  was  his 
first  word  of  greeting.  He  meant  more  than  he 
said,  for,  though  she  was  not  handsome,  she  had  grown 
exceeding  comely  as  she  developed  into  a  woman. 

"  Undignified  as  ever ! "  said  Amanda,  as  he 
returned  to  the  sitting  room. 

"How?"  said  John.  He  looked  bewildered. 
What  had  he  done  that  was  undignified?  And 
Amanda  Holmes  saw  well  eimuirh  that  it  would  not 
do  to  tell  him  that  speaking  to  lluldah  Manners  was 
not  consistent  with  dignity.  She  saw  that  her  remark 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP.  137 

had  been  a  mistake,  and  she  got  out  of  it  as  best  she 
could  by  turning  the  conversation.  Several  times 
during  the  supper  John  addressed  his  conversation  to 
Hul<jah,  who  sat  at  the  table  with  the  family ;  for  in 
the  country  in  those  days  it  would  have  been  consid 
ered  a  great  outrage  to  make  a  "  help  "  wait  for  the 
second  table.  John  would  turn  from  the  literary  con 
versation  to  inquire  of  Huldah  about  his  old  play 
mates,  some  of  whom  had  gone  to  the  West,  some  of 
whom  had  died,  and  some  of  whom  were  settling  into 
the  same  fixed  adherence  to  their  native  rocks  that 
had  characterized  their  ancestors. 

The  next  day  the  ladies  could  get  no  good  out  of 
John  Harlow.  He  got  up  early  and  milked  the  cow. 
He  cut  wood  and  carried  it  in  for  Huldah.  He  rode 
old  Bob  to  the  brook  for  water.  He  did  everything 
that  he  had  been  accustomed  to  do  when  a  boy,  find 
ing  as  much  pleasure  in  forgetting  that  he  was  a  man 
as  he  had  once  found  in  hoping  to  be  a  man.  The 
two  boys  enjoyed  his  society  greatly,  and  his  father 
was  delighted  to  see  that  he  had  retained  his  interest 
in  the  farm  life,  though  the  deacon  evidently  felt  an 
unconquerable  hostility  to  what  he  called  "  that  scrub- 
brush  on  the  upper  lip."  I  think  if  John  had  known 
how  strong  his  father's  feeling  was  against  this  much 
cherished  product  he  would  have  mowed  the  crop  and 
grazed  the  field  closely  until  he  got  back  to  the  city. 

John  was  not  insensible  to  Janet  Dunton's  charms. 
10 


138  DUFFELS. 

She  could  talk  fluently  about  all  the  authors  most  in 
vogue,  and  the  effect  of  her  fluency  was  really  daz 
zling  to  a  man  not  yet  cultivated  enough  himself  to  see 
how  superficial  her  culture  was ;  for  all  her  learning 
floated  on  top.  None  of  it  had  influenced  her  own 
culture.  She  was  brim  full  of  that  which  she  had 
acquired,  but  it  had  not  been  incorporated  into  her 
own  nature.  John  did  not  see  this,  and  he  was  infatu 
ated  with  the  idea  of  marrying  a  wife  of  such  attain 
ments.  How  she  would  dazzle  his  friends !  How  the 
governor  would  like  to  talk  to  her !  How  she  would 
shine  in  his  parlors !  How  she  would  delight  people 
as  she  gave  them  tea  and  talk  at  the  same  time. 
John  was  in  love  with  her  as  he  would  have  been  in 
love  with  a  new  tea  urn  or  a  rare  book.  She  was  a 
nice  thing  to  show.  Other  people  than  John  have 
married  on  the  strength  of  such  a  feeling  and  called 
it  love ;  for  John  really  imagined  that  he  was  in 
love.  And  during  that  week  he  talked  and  walked 
and  rode  in  the  sleigh  with  Miss  Dunton,  and  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  carry  this  brilliant 
prize  to  New  York.  But,  with  lawyerlike  caution, 
he  thought  he  would  put  off  the  committal  as 
long  as  possible.  If  his  heart  had  been  in  his  atten 
tions  the  caution  would  not  have  been  worth  much. 
Caution  is  a  good  breakwater  against  vanity,  but  it 
isn't  worth  much  against  the  springtide  of  love,  as 
John  Ilarlow  soon  found  out. 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP.  139 

For  toward  the  end  of  the  week  he  began  to  feel 
a  warmer  feeling  for  Miss  Janet.  It  was  not  in  the 
nature  of  tilings  that  John  should  walk  and  talk  with 
a  pleasant  girl  a  week,  and  not  feel  something  more 
than  his  first  interested  desire  to  marry  a  showy  wife. 
His  heart  began  to  be  touched,  and  he  resolved  to 
bring  things  to  a  crisis  as  soon  as  possible.  He  there 
fore  sought  an  opportunity  to  propose.  But  it  was 
hard  to  find.  For  though  Mrs.  Holmes  was  tolerably 
ingenious,  she  could  not  get  the  boys  or  the  deacon  to 
pay  any  regard  to  her  hints.  Boys  are  totally  de 
praved  on  such  questions  anyhow,  and  always  manage 
to  stumble  in  where  any  privacy  is  sought.  And  as 
for  the  deacon,  it  really  seemed  as  though  he  had  some 
design  in  intruding  at  the  critical  moment. 

I  do  not  think  that  John  was  seriously  in  love 
with  Miss  Dunton.  If  he  had  been  he  wrould  have 
found  some  means  of  communicating  with  her.  A 
thousand  spies  with  sleepless  eyes  all  round  their  heads 
can  not  keep  a  man  from  telling  his  love  somehow,  if 
he  really  have  a  love  to  tell. 

There  is  another  fact  which  convinces  me  that 
John  Harlow  was  not  yet  very  deeply  in  love  with 
Janet.  He  was  fond  of  talking  with  her  of  Byron 
and  Milton,  of  Lord  Bacon  and  Emerson — i.  e.,  as  I 
have  already  said,  he  was  fond  of  putting  his  own 
knowledge  on  dress  parade  in  the  presence  of  one  who 
could  appreciate  the  display.  But  whenever  any  lit- 


HO  DUFFELS. 

tie  thing  released  him  for  the  time  from  conversation 
in  the  sitting  room  he  was  given  to  slipping  out  into 
the  old  kitchen,  where,  sitting  on  a  chair  that  had  no 
back,  and  leaning  against  the  chimney  side,  he  delight 
ed  to  talk  to  Huldah.  She  couldn't  talk  much  of 
books,  but  she  could  talk  most  charmingly  of  every 
thing  that  related  to  the  country  life,  and  she  could 
ask  John  many  questions  about  the  great  city.  In 
fact,  John  found  that  Huldah  had  come  into  posses 
sion  of  only  such  facts  and  truths  as  could  be  reached 
in  her  narrow  life,  but  that  she  had  assimilated  them 
and  thought  about  them,  and  that  it  was  more  refresh 
ing  to  hear  her  original  and  piquant  remarks  about 
the  topics  she  was  acquainted  with  than  to  listen  to 
the  tireless  stream  of  Janet  Dunton's  ostentatious  eru 
dition.  And  he  found  more  delight  in  telling  the 
earnest  and  hungry-minded  country  girl  about  the 
great  world  of  men  and  the  great  world  of  books  than 
in  talking  to  Janet,  who  was,  in  the  matter  of  knowl 
edge,  a  little  Masee,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expres 
sion.  And  then,  to  Huldah  he  could  talk  of  his  moth 
er,  whom  he  had  often  watched  moving  about  that 
same  kitchen.  When  he  had  spoken  to  Janet  of  the 
associations  of  the  old  place  with  his  mother's  counte 
nance,  she  had  answered  with  a  quotation  from  some 
poet,  given  in  a  tone  of  empty  sentimentality.  Ho 
instinctively  shrank  from  mentioning  the  subject  to 
her  again  ;  but  to  Huldah  it  was  so  easy  to  talk  of  his 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP. 

mother's  gentleness  and  sweetness.  Huldah  was  not 
unlike  her  in  these  respects,  and  then  she  gave  him  the 
sort  of  sympathy  that  finds  its  utterance  in  a  tender 
silence — so  much  more  tender  than  any  speech  can  be. 

He  observed  often  during  the  week  that  Huldah 
was  depressed.  He  could  not  exactly  account  for  it, 
until  he  noticed  something  in  his  sister's  behavior  to 
ward  her  that  awakened  his  suspicion.  As  soon  as 
opportunity  offered  he  inquired  of  Huldah,  affecting 
at  the  same  time  to  know  something  about  it. 

"  I  don't  want  to  complain  of  your  sister  to  you, 
Mr.  Harlow— " 

"  Pshaw  !  call  me  John ;  and  as  for  my  sister,  I 
know  her  faults  better  than  you  do.  Go  on,  please." 

"  Well,  it's  only  that  she  told  me  that  Miss  Dun- 
ton  wasn't  used  to  eating  at  the  same  table  with  serv 
ants  ;  and  when  one  of  the  boys  told  your  father,  he 
was  mad,  and  came  to  me,  and  said,  '  Huldah,  you 
must  eat  when  the  rest  do.  If  you  stay  away  from 
the  table  on  account  of  these  city  snobs  I'll  make  a 
fuss  on  the  spot.'  So,  to  avoid  a  fuss,  I  have  kept  on 
going  to  the  table." 

John  was  greatly  vexed  with  this.  He  was  a  chiv 
alrous  fellow,  and  he  knew  how  such  a  remark  must 
wound  a  person  who  had  never  learned  that  domestic 
service  had  anything  degrading  in  it.  And  the  re 
sult  was  just  the  opposite  of  what  his  sister  had 
hoped.  John  paid  more  attention  than  ever  to  Hul- 


142  DUFFELS. 

dali   Ma: i IUTS  because  she  was  the  victim  of  oppres 
sion. 

The  evening  before  Thanksgiving  day  the  ladies 
wi-re  going  to  make  a  visit.  It  was  not  at  all  incum 
bent  on  John  to  go,  but  he  was  seeking  an  opportunity 
to  carry  off  the  brilliant  Miss  Duntou,  who  would 
adorn  his  parlors  when  he  became  rich  and  distin 
guished,  and  who  would  make  so  nice  a  headpiece  for 
his  table.  And  so  he  had  determined  to  go  with  them, 
trusting  to  some  fortunate  chance  for  his  opportunity. 

But,  sitting  in  the  old  "  best  room  "  in  the  dark, 
while  the  ladies  were  getting  ready,  and  trying  to  de- 
rise  a  way  by  which  he  might  get  an  opportunity  to 
speak  with  Miss  Dunton  alone,  it  occurred  to  him  that 
she  was  at  that  time  in  the  sitting  room  waiting  for 
his  sister.  To  step  out  to  where  she  was,  and  present 
the  case  in  a  few  words,  would  not  be  difficult,  and  it 
might  all  be  settled  before  his  sister  came  downstairs. 
The  Fates  were  against  him,  however ;  for,  just  as  he 
was  about  to  act  on  his  thought,  he  heard  Amanda 
Holmes's  abundant  skirts  sweeping  down  the  stair 
way.  He  could  not  help  hearing  the  conversation 
that  followed : 

"You  see,  Janet,  I  got  up  this  trip  to-night  to 
keep  John  from  spending  the  evening  in  the  kitchen. 
IK-  hasn't  a  bit  of  dignity,  and  would  spend  the  even 
ing  romping  with  the  children  and  talking  to  lluldah 
if  he  took  it  into  his  head." 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP.  143 

"  Well,"  said  Janet,  "  one  can  overlook  everything 
in  a  man  of  your  brother's  culture.  But  what  a  queer 
way  your  country  servants  have  of  pushing  them 
selves!  Wouldn't  I  make  them  know  their  places! " 

And  all  this  was  said  with  the  kitchen  door  open, 
and  with  the  intention  of  wounding  Huldah. 

John's  castles  tumbled.  The  erudite  wife  along 
side  the  silver  tea  urn  faded  out  of  sight  rapidly.  If 
knowledge  could  not  give  a  touch  of  humane  regard 
for  the  feelings  of  a  poor  girl  toiling  dutifully  and 
self-denyingly  to  support  her  family,  of  what  account 
was  it? 

Two  minutes  before  he  was  about  to  give  his  life 
to  Janet  Dunton.  Now  there  was  a  gulf  wider  than 
the  world  between  them.  He  slipped  out  of  the  best 
room  by  the  outside  door  and  came  in  through  the 
kitchen.  The  neighbor's  sleigh  that  was  to  call  for 
them  was  already  at  the  door,  and  John  begged  them 
to  excuse  him.  He  had  set  his  heart  on  helping  Hul 
dah  make  mince  pies,  as  he  used  to  help  his  mother 
when  a  boy.  His  sister  was  in  despair,  but  she  did 
not  say  much.  She  told  John  that  it  was  time  he  was 
getting  over  his  queer  freaks.  And  the  sleigh  drove  off. 

For  an  hour  afterward  John  romped  with  his  sis 
ter's  children  and  told  stories  to  the  boys  and  talked 
to  his  father.  When  a  man  has  barely  escaped  going 
over  a  precipice  he  does  not  like  to  think  too  much 
about  it.  John  did  not. 


144  DUFFELS. 

At  last  the  little  children  wont  to  bed.  The  old 
gentleman  grew  sleepy,  and  retired.  The  boys  went 
into  the  sitting  room  and  went  to  sleep,  one  on  the 
lounge  and  one  on  the  floor.  Iluldah  was  just  ready 
to  begin  her  pies.  She  was  deeply  hurt,  hut  John 
succeeded  in  making  her  more  cheerful.  He  rolled 
up  his  sleeves  and  went  to  rolling  out  the  pastry.  He 
thought  he  had  never  seen  a  sweeter  picture  than  the 
young  girl  in  clean  dress  and  apron,  with  her  sleeves 
rolled  above  her  elbows.  There  was  a  statuesque  per 
fection  in  her  well-rounded  arms.  The  heat  of  the 
fire  had  flushed  her  face  a  little,  and  she  was  laughing 
merrily  at  John's  awkward  blunders  in  pie-making. 
John  was  delighted,  he  hardly  knew  why.  In  fixing 
a  pie  crust  his  fingers  touched  hers,  and  he  started  as 
if  he  had  touched  a  galvanic  battery,  lie  looked  at 
Iluldah,  and  saw  a  half-pained  expression  on  her 
flushed  face. 

For  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  him  that  Huldah 
Manners  had  excited  in  him  a  feeling  a  thousand 
times  deeper  than  anything  he  had  felt  toward  Janet, 
who  seemed  to  be  now  in  another  world.  For  the 
first  time  he  realized  that  he  had  been  more  in  love 
with  Iluldah  than  with  Janet  all  the  time.  AVhy  not 
marry  her?  And  then  he  remembered  what  the  gov 
ernor  had  said  about  marrying  a  woman's  heart  and 
not  her  head. 

lie  put  on  his  hat  and  walked  out — out,  out,  into 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP.  145 

the  darkness,  the  drizzling  rain,  and  the  slush  of  melt 
ing  snow,  fighting  a  fierce  battle.  All  his  pride  and 
all  his  cowardly  vanity  were  on  one  side,  all  the  irre 
sistible  torrent  of  his  love  on  the  other.  He  walked 
away  into  the  dark  wood  pasture,  trying  to  cool  his 
brow,  trying  to  think,  and — would  you  believe  it  ? — 
trying  to  pray,  for  it  was  a  great  struggle,  and  in 
any  great  struggle  a  true  soul  always  finds  some 
thing  very  like  prayer  in  his  heart. 

The  feeling  of  love  may  exist  without  attracting 
the  attention  of  its  possessor.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  John  that  he  could  love  or  marry  Huldah.  Thus 
the  passion  had  grown  all  the  more  powerful  for  not 
being  observed,  and  now  the  unseen  fire  had  at  a  flash 
appeared  as  an  all-consuming  one. 

Turning  back,  he  stood  without  the  window,  in  the 
shadow,  and  looked  through  the  glass  at  the  trim 
young  girl  at  work  with  her  pies.  In  the  modest, 
restful  face  he  read  the  story  of  a  heart  that  had  car 
ried  great  burdens  patiently  and  nobly.  What  a  glori 
ous  picture  she  was  of  warmth  and  light,  framed  in 
darkness!  To  his  heart  at  that  moment  all  the  light 
and  warmth  of  the  world  centered  in  Huldah.  All  the 
world  besides  was  loneliness  and  darkness  and  drizzle 
and  slush.  His  fear  of  his  sister  and  of  his  friends 
seemed  base  and  cowardly.  And  the  more  he  looked 
at  this  vision  of  the  night,  this  revelation  of  peace  and 
love  and  light,  the  more  he  was  determined  to  possess 


146  DUFFELS. 

it.  You  will  call  him  precipitate.  But  when  all  a 
man's  nobility  is  on  one  side  and  all  his  meanness  on 
the  other,  why  hesitate  ?  Besides,  John  Ilarlow  had 
done  more  thinking  in  that  half  hour  than  most  men 
do  in  a  month. 

The  vision  had  vanished  from  the  window,  and  he 
went  in  and  sat  down.  She  had  by  this  time  put  in 
the  last  pie,  and  was  sitting  with  her  head  on  her  hand. 
The  candle  flickered  and  went  out,  and  there  was  only 
the  weird  and  ruddy  firelight.  I  can  not  tell  you  what 
words  passed  between  John  and  the  surprised  Huldali, 
\vho  had  thought  him  already  betrothed  to  Miss  Dun- 
ton.  I  can  not  tell  what  was  said  in  the  light  of  that 
fire;  I  don't  suppose  Ilarlow  could  tell  that  story 
himself. 

Iluldah  asked  that  he  should  not  say  anything 
about  it  till  his  sister  was  gone.  Of  course  John  saw 
that  she  asked  it  for  his  sake.  But  his  own  cowardice 
was  glad  of  the  shelter. 

Next  day  a  brother  of  John's,  whom  I  forgot 
to  mention  before,  came  home  from  college.  Mrs. 
Ilolmes's  husband  arrived  unexpectedly.  Aunt  Ju 
dith,  with  her  family,  came  over  at  dinner  time,  so 
that  there  was  a  large  and  merry  party.  Two  hearts, 
at  least,  joined  in  the  deacon's  thanksgiving  before 
dinner  with  much  fervor. 

At  the  table  the  dinner  was  much  admired. 

"  Iluldah,"  said  Janet  Dunton,  "  I  like  your  pies. 


HULDAH,  THE  HELP.  147 

I  wish  I  could  hire  you  to  go  to  Boston.  Our  cook 
never  does  so  well." 

John  saw  the  well-aimed  shaft  hidden  under  this 
compliment,  and  all  his  manhood  rallied.  As  soon  as 
he  could  be  sure  of  himself  he  said  : 

"  You  can  not  have  Huldah ;  she  is  already  en 
gaged." 

"  How's  that  ? "  said  Aunt  Judith. 

"  Oh  !    I've  secured  her  services,"  said  John. 

"What?"  said  Mrs.  Holmes,  "engaged  your — 
your — your  help  before  you  engaged  a  wife !  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  John ;  "  engaged  my  help  and 
my  wife  in  one.  I  hope  that  Huldah  Manners  will  be 
Huldah  Harlow  by  Christmas." 

The  deacon  dropped  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
dropped  his  lower  jaw,  and  stared.  "  What !  How  ! 
What  did  you  say,  John? " 

«/  */  7 

"  I  say,  father,  that  this  good  girl  Huldah  is  to  be 
my  wife." 

"John  !  "  gasped  the.  old  man,  getting  to  his  feet 
and  reaching  his  hand  across  the  table,  "  you've  got 
plenty  of  sense  if  you  do  wear  a  mustache !  God 
bless  you,  my  boy ;  there  ain't  no  better  woman  here, 
nor  in  New  York,  nor  anywhere,  than  Huldah.  God 
bless  you  both !  I  was  afraid  you'd  take  a  different 
road,  though." 

"  Hurrah  for  our  Huldah  and  our  John  ! "  said 
George  Harlow,  the  college  boy,  and  his  brothers 


148  WFFKLS. 

joined  him.      Even  the  little  Holmes  children  hur 
rahed. 

Here  the  judge  stopped. 

"  Well,"  said  Irene,  "  I  don't  think  it  was  very 
nice  in  him  to  marry  the  '  help.'  Do  you,  father  ? " 

"  Indeed  I  do"  said  the  judge,  with  emphasis. 

"  Did  she  ever  come  to  understand  Emerson  ? " 
asked  Anna,  who  detested  the  Concord  philosopher 
because  she  could  not  understand  him. 

"  Indeed  I  don't  know,"  said  the  judge  ;  "  you  can 
ask  Huldah  herself." 

"  Who  ?  what  ?  You  don't  mean  that  mother  is 
Huldah?" 

It  was  a  cry  in  concert. 

"  Mother  "  was  a  little  red  in  the  face  behind  the 
copy  of  Whittier  she  was  affecting  to  read. 

1870. 


THE   NEW  CASHIER 

MY  friend  Macartney-Smith  has  working  theories 
for  everything.  He  illustrated  one  of  these  the  other 
day  by  relating  something  that  happened  in  the  Gi- 
ralda  apartment  house,  where  he  lives  in  a  suite  over 
looking  Central  Park.  I  do  not  remember  whether 
he  was  expounding  his  notion  that  the  apartment 
house  has  solved  the  question  of  co-operative  house 
keeping,  or  whether  he  was  engaged  in  demonstrat 
ing  certain  propositions  regarding  the  influence  of 
the  city  on  the  country.  Since  I  have  forgotten 
what  it  was  intended  to  prove,  the  incident  has 
seemed  more  interesting.  It  is  bad  for  a  story  to 
medicate  it  with  a  theory.  However,  here  are  the 
facts  as  Macartney-Smith  relates  them  with  his  Q.  E. 
D.  omitted. 

I  do  not  know  [he  began]  by  what  accident  or 
on  what  recommendation  the  manager  of  the  Giralda 
brought  a  girl  from  Iowa  to  act  as  clerk  and  cashier 
in  the  restaurant. 

The  new  cashier  had  lived  in  a  town  where  there 
were  differences  in  social  standing,  but  no  recognized 


150  DUFFELS. 

distinctions,  after  you  had  left  out  the  sedimentary 
poverty-stricken  class.  She  not  only  had  no  notions 
of  the  lines  of  social  cleavage  in  a  great  apartment- 
house,  but  she  had  never  heard  of  chaperonage,  or 
those  other  indelicacies  that  go  along  with  the  high 
civilization  of  a  metropolis.  I  have  no  doubt  she 
was  the  best  scholar  in  the  arithmetic  class  in  the 
village  high  school,  and  ten  to  one  she  was  the  cham 
pion  at  croquet.  She  took  life  with  a  zest  unknown 
to  us  New  Yorkers,  and  let  the  starchiest  people  in 
the  house  know  that  she  was  glad  to  see  them  when 
they  returned  after  an  absence  by  going  across  the 
dining-room  to  shake  hands  with  them  and  to  inquire 
whether  they  had  had  a  good  time.  Even  the  gently 
frigid  manner  of  Mrs.  Drupe  could  not  chill  her 
friendliness ;  she  was  accustomed  to  accost  that  lady 
in  the  elevator,  and  demand,  "  How  is  Mr.  Drupe  ? " 
whenever  that  gentleman  chanced  to  be  absent.  It 
was  not  possible  for  her  to  imagine  that  Mrs.  Drupe 
could  be  otherwise  than  grateful  for  any  manifesta 
tion  of  a  friendly  interest  in  her  husband. 

To  show  any  irritation  was  not  Mrs.  Drupe's  way; 
that  would  have  disturbed  the  stylish  repose  of  her 
bearing  even  more  than  misplaced  cordiality.  She 
always  returned  the  salutations  of  Miss  \\  akciidd, 
but  in  a  tone  so  neutral,  cool,  and  cucumbcrish  that 
she  hoped  the  girl  would  feel  rebuked  and  learn  a 
little  more  diffidence,  or  at  least  learn  that  the 


THE  NEW  CASHIER.  151 

Drupes  did  not  care  for  her  acquaintance.  But  the 
only  result  of  such  treatment  was  that  Miss  Wakefield 
would  say  to  the  clerk  in  the  office  :  "  Your  Eastern 
people  have  such  stiff  ways  that  they  make  me  home 
sick.  But  they  don't  mean  any  harm,  I  suppose." 

Some  of  the  families  in  the  Giralda  rather  liked 
the  new  cashier ;  these  were  they  who  had  children. 
The  little  children  chatted  and  laughed  with  her 
across  her  desk  when  they  came  down  as  forerunners 
to  give  the  order  for  the  family  dinner.  If  it  were 
only  lunch  time,  when  few  people  were  in  the  restau 
rant,  they  went  behind  the  desk  and  embraced  the 
cashier  and  had  a  romp  with  her.  The  smallest  chaps 
she  would  take  up  in  her  arms  while  she  pulled  out 
the  drawers  to  show  them  her  paper  knife  and  trin 
kets  ;  and  when  there  were  flowers,  she  would  often 
break  off  one  apiece  for  even  those  least  amiable  little 
plagues  that  in  an  apartment  house  are  the  torment 
of  their  nurses  and  their  mammas  the  livelong  day. 
This  not  only  gave  pleasure  to  the  infantry,  but  re 
lieved  an  aching  which  the  poor  girl  had  for  a  once 
cheerful  home,  now  broken  up  by  the  death  of  her 
parents  and  the  scattering  abroad  of  brothers  and 
sisters. 

The  young  men  in  the  house  thought  her  "  a  jolly 
girl,"  since  she  would  chat  with  them  over  her  desk 
as  freely  as  she  would  have  chatted  across  the  counter 
with  the  clerks  in  Cedar  Falls,  where  she  came  from. 


152  DUFFELS. 

She  was  equally  cordial  with  the  head  waiter,  and  with 
those  of  his  staff  who  knew  any  more  English  than 
was  indispensable  to  the  taking  of  an  order.  But  her 
frank  familiarity  with  young  gentlemen  and  friendly 
speech  with  servants  were  offensive  to  some  of  the 
ladies.  They  talked  it  over,  and  decided  that  Miss 
"Wakefield  was  not  a  modest  girl ;  that  at  least  she 
did  not  know  her  place,  and  that  the  manager  ought 
to  dismiss  her  if  he  meant  to  maintain  the  tone  of  the 
house.  The  manager — poor  fellow ! — had  to  hold  his 
own  place  against  the  rivalry  of  the  treasurer,  and 
when  such  complaints  were  made  to  him  what  could 
he  do  ?  He  stood  out  a  while  for  Miss  Wakefield, 
whom  he  liked;  but  when  the  influential  Mrs.  Drupe 
wrote  to  him  that  the  cashier  at  the  desk  in  the 
restaurant  was  not  a  well-behaved  girl,  he  knew  that 
it  was  time  to  look  out  for  another. 

If  the  manager  had  forewarned  her,  she  could 
have  saved  money  enough  to  take  her  back  to  Iowa, 
where  she  might  dare  to  be  as  friendly  as  she  pleased 
with  other  respectable  humans  without  fear  of 
reproach.  But  he  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  let  go  of 
one  cashier  till  he  had  found  another.  It  was  while 
the  manager  was  deciding  which  of  three  other 
young  women  to  take  that  Mr.  Drupe  was  stricken 
with  apoplexy.  He  had  finished  eating  his  luncheon, 
which  was  served  in  the  apartment,  and  had  lighted  a 
cigar,  when  he  fell  over.  There  were  no  children, 


THE  NEW  CASHIER.  153 

and  the  Drupes  kept  no  servant,  but  depended  on  the 
housekeeper  to  send  them  a  maid  when  they  required 
one,  so  that  Mrs.  Drupe  found  herself  alone  with  her 
prostrate  husband.  The  distracted  wife  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  She  took  hold  of  the  needle  of  the 
teleseme,  but  the  words  on  the  dial  were  confused ; 
she  quickly  moved  the  needle  round  over  the  whole 
twenty-four  points,  but  none  of  them  suited  the  case. 
She  stopped  it  at  "  porter,"  moved  it  to  "  bootblack," 
carried  it  around  to  "  ice  water,"  and  successively  to 
"  coupe,"  "  laundress,"  and  "  messenger-boy,"  and  then 
gave  up  in  despair,  and  jerked  open  the  door  that  led 
to  the  hall.  Miss  "VVakefield  had  just  come  up  to  the 
next  apartment  to  inquire  after  a  little  girl  ill  from  a 
cold,  and  was  returning  toward  the  elevator  when 
Mrs.  Drupe's  wild  face  was  suddenly  thrust  forth 
upon  her. 

"  Won't  you  call  a  boy — somebody  ?  My  husband 
is  dying,"  were  the  words  that  greeted  Miss  Wake- 
field  at  the  moment  of  the  apparition  of  the  despair 
ing  face. 

Miss  Wakefield  rushed  past  Mrs.  Drupe  into  the 
apartment,  and  turned  the  teleseme  to  the  word 
"  manager,"  and  then  pressed  the  button  three  times  in 
quick  succession.  She  knew  that  a  call  for  the  man 
ager  would  suggest  fire,  robbery,  and  sudden  death, 
and  that  it  would  wake  up  the  lethargic  forces  in  the 

office.    Then  she  turned  to  the  form  of  the  man  lying 
11 


l.Vj.  DUFFELS. 

prostrate  on  the  floor,  seized  a  pillow  from  the 
lounge,  and  motioned  to  Mrs.  Drupe  to  raise  his  head 
while  she  laid  it  beneath. 

""Who  is  your  doctor?"  she  demanded. 

"  Dr.  Morris ;  but  it's  a  mile  away,"  said  the  dis 
tracted  woman.  "Won't  you  send  ft  boy  in  a 
coupe  ? " 

"  I'll  go  myself,  the  boys  are  so  slow,"  said  the 
cashier.  "  Shall  I  send  you  a  neighboring  doctor  till 
Dr.  Morris  can  get  here  ?  " 

"  Do  !  do  !  "  pleaded  the  wife,  now  wildly  wring 
ing  her  hands. 

Miss  Wakefield  caught  the  elevator  as  it  landed 
the  manager  on  the  floor,  and  she  briefly  told  him 
what  was  the  matter.  Then  she  descended,  and  had 
the  clerk  order  a  coupe  by  telephone,  and  then  herself 
sent  Dr.  Floyd  from  across  the  street,  while  she  ran  to 
the  stable,  leaped  into  the  coupe  before  the  horse  was 
fairly  hitched  up,  and  drove  for  Dr.  Morris. 

Dr.  Morris  found  Mrs.  Drupe  already  a  widow 
when  he  arrived  with  the  cashier.  The  latter  prompt 
ly  secured  the  addresses  of  Mr.  Drupe's  brother  and 
of  his  business  partner,  again  entered  the  coupe",  and 
soon  had  the  poor  woman  in  the  hands  of  her 
friends. 

The  energetic  girl  went  to  her  room  that  night 
exhilarated  by  her  own  prompt  and  kind-hearted  ac 
tion.  But  the  evil  spirit  that  loves  to  mar  our  hap- 


THE  NEW  CASHIER.  155 

piness  had  probably  arranged  it  that  on  that  very 
evening  she  received  a  note  from  the  manager  noti 
fying  her  that  her  services  would  not  be  required 
after  one  more  week.  On  inquiry  the  next  day  she 
learned  that  some  of  the  ladies  had  complained  of  her 
behavior,  and  she  vainly  tried  to  remember  what  she 
had  done  that  was  capable  of  misconstruction.  She 
also  vainly  tried  to  imagine  how  she  was  to  live,  or  by 
what  means  she  was  to  contrive  to  get  back  to  those 
who  knew  her  too  well  to  suspect  her  of  any  evil. 
She  was  so  much  perplexed  by  the  desperate  state  of 
her  own  affairs  that  she  even  neglected  to  attend  Mr. 
Drupe's  funeral,  but  she  hoped  that  Mrs.  Drupe 
would  not  take  it  unkindly. 

It  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that  the  manager  called 
Miss  Wakefield  into  his  office  on  the  ground  floor  in 
order  that  he  might  pay  her  last  week's  wages.  He 
was  relieved  that  she  seemed  to  accept  her  dismissal 
with  cheerfulness. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he  asked  timidly. 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  ? "  she  said.  "  I  am  to 
live  with  Mrs.  Drupe  as  a  companion,  and  to  look  out 
for  her  affairs  and  collect  her  rents.  I  used  to  think 
she  didn't  like  me.  But  it  will  be  a  good  lesson  to 
those  ladies  who  found  fault  with  me  for  nothing 
when  they  see  how  much  Mrs.  Drupe  thinks  of  me." 

And  she  went  her  way  to  her  new  home  in  Mrs. 
Drupe's  apartment,  at  the  end  of  the  hall  on  the  sixth 


156  DUFFELS. 

floor,  while  the  manager  took  from  a  pigeonhole 
Mrs.  Drupe's  letter  of  complaint  against  the  former 
cashier,  and  read  it  over  carefully. 

The  thickness  of  the  walls  at  the  base  of  so  lofty  a 
building  made  it  difficult  for  daylight  to  work  its  way 
through  the  tunnel-like  windows,  so  that  in  this  office 
a  gas  jet  was  necessary  in  the  daytime.  After  a  mo 
ment's  reflection  the  manager  touched  Mrs.  Drupe's 
letter  of  complaint  to  the  flame,  and  it  was  presently 
reduced  to  everlasting  illegibility. 


PEISCILLA. 

THE  trained  novel  readers,  those  who  have  made 
a  business  of  it  (if  any  such  should  honor  this  poor 
little  story  with  their  attention),  will  glance  down  the 
opening  paragraphs  for  a  description  of  the  heroine's 
tresses.  The  opening  sentences  of  Miss  Braddon  are 
enough  to  show  how  important  a  thing  a  head  of  hair 
is  in  the  getting  up  of  a  heroine  for  the  popular  mar 
ket.  But  as  my  heroine  is  not  a  got-up  one,  and  as 
I  can  not  possibly  remember  even  the  color  of  her 
hair  or  her  eyes  as  I  recall  her  now,  I  fear  I  shall  dis 
appoint  the  professionals,  who  never  feel  that  they 
have  a  complete  heroine  till  the  "  long  waving  tresses 
of  raven  darkness,  reaching  nearly  to  the  ground, 
enveloping  her  as  with  a  cloud,"  have  been  artistically 
stuck  on  by  the  author.  But  be  it  known  that  I  take 
Priscilla  from  memory,  and  not  from  imagination. 
And  the  memory  of  Priscilla,  the  best  girl  in  the 
school,  the  most  gifted,  the  most  modest,  the  most 
gentle  and  true,  is  a  memory  too  sacred  to  be  trifled 
with.  I  would  not  make  one  hair  light  or  dark,  I 
would  not  change  the  shading  of  the  eyebrows. 


i;,S  DUFFELS. 

Priscilla  is  Priscilla  forever,  to  all  who  knew  her. 
And  as  I  can  not  tell  the  precise  color  of  her  hair  and 
eyes,  I  shall  not  invent  a  shade  for  them.  I  remem- 
IHT  that  she  was  on  the  blond  side  of  the  grand 
division  line.  But  she  was  not  blond.  She  was — 
Pri.scilla.  I  mean  to  say  that  since  you  never  lived  in 
that  dear  old-fogy  Ohio  River  village  of  New  Geneva, 
and  since,  consequently,  you  never  knew  our  Priscilla, 
no  words  of  mine  can  make  you  exactly  understand 
her.  "Was  she  handsome  ?  No — yes.  She  was  "  jim- 
ber-jawed  " — that  is,  her  lower  teeth  shut  a  little  out 
side  her  upper.  Tier  complexion  was  not  faultless. 
Her  face  would  not  bear  criticism.  And  yet  there 
is  not  one  of  her  old  schoolmates  that  will  not  vow 
that  she  was  beautiful.  And  indeed  she  was.  For 
she  was  Priscilla.  And  I  never  can  make  you  under 
stand  it. 

As  Priscilla  was  always  willing  to  oblige  any  one, 
it  was  only  natural  that  Mrs.  Leston  should  send 
for  her  to  help  entertain  the  marquis.  It  was  a 
curious  chance  that  threw  the  young  Marquis  d'En- 
trcmont  for  a  whole  summer  into  the  society  of 
our  little  village.  His  uncle,  who  was  his  guardian,  a 
pious  abbe,  wishing  to  remove  him  from  Paris  to  get 
him  out  of  socialistic  influences,  had  sent  him  to  New 
( )rl(;ans,  consigned  to  the  care  of  the  great  banking 
house  of  Challeau,  Lafort  &  Company.  Not  liking 
to  take  the  chances  of  yellow  fever  in  the  summer, 


PRISCILLA.  159 

he  had  resolved  to  journey  to  the  North,  and  as 
Challeau,  Lafort  &  Company  had  a  correspondent  in 
Henry  Leston,  the  young  lawyer,  and  as  French  was 
abundantly  spoken  in  our  Swiss  village  of  New 
Geneva,  what  more  natural  than  that  they  should 
dispatch  the  marquis  to  our  pleasant  town  of  vine 
yards,  giving  him  a  letter  of  introduction  to  their 
attorney,  who  fortunately  spoke  some  book  French. 
He  had  presented  the  letter,  had  been  invited  to  din 
ner,  and  Priscilla  Haines,  who  had  learned  French  in 
childhood,  though  she  was  not  Swiss,  was  sent  for  to 
help  entertain  the  guest. 

I  can  not  but  fancy  that  D'Entremont  was  sur 
prised  at  meeting  just  such  a  girl  as  Priscilla  in  a  rustic 
village.  She  was  not  abashed  at  finding  herself  face 
to  face  with  a  nobleman,  nor  did  she  seem  at  all 
anxious  to  attract  his  notice.  The  vanity  of  the 
marquis  must  have  been  a  little  hurt  at  finding  a  lady 
that  did  not  court  his  attention.  But  wounded  vanity 
soon  gave  place  to  another  surprise.  Even  Mrs.  Les 
ton,  who  understood  not  one  word  of  the  conversation 
between  her  husband,  the  marquis,  and  Priscilla,  was 
wratching  for  this  second  surprise,  and  did  not  fail  to 
read  it  in  D'Entremont's  eyes.  Here  was  a  young 
woman  who  had  read.  She  could  admire  Corinne, 
which  was  much  in  vogue  in  those  days  among  Eng 
lish-speaking  students  of  French;  she  could  oppose 
Saint  Simon.  The  Marquis  d'Entremont  had  re- 


ICO  DUFFELS. 

signed  himself  to  the  ennui  of  talking  to  Swiss  farm 
ers  about  their  vineyards,  of  listening  to  Swiss  grand 
mothers  telling  stories  of  their  childhood  in  Neuf- 
chatel  and  Yaud.  But  to  find  in  this  young  village 
school-teacher  one  who  could  speak,  and  listen  while 
he  spoke,  of  his  favorite  writers,  was  to  him  very 
strange.  Not  that  Priscilla  had  read  many  French 
books,  for  there  were  not  many  within  her  reach. 
But  she  had  read  Grimm's  Correspondence,  and  he 
who  reads  this  has  heard  the  echo  of  many  of  the 
great  voices  in  French  literature.  And  while  David 
ilaines  had  lived  his  daughter  had  wanted  nothing  he 
could  get  to  help  her  to  the  highest  culture. 

But  I  think  what  amazed  the  marquis  most  was 
that  Priscilla  showed  no  consciousness  of  the  unusual 
character  of  her  attainments.  She  spoke  easily  and 
naturally  of  what  she  knew,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
course  that  the  teacher  of  a  primary  school  should 
have  read  Corneille,  and  should  be  able  to  combat 
Saint  Simonism.  As  the  dinner  drew  to  a  close,  Les- 
ton  lifted  his  chair  round  to  where  his  wife  sat  and 
interpreted  the  bright  talk  at  the  other  side  of  the 
table. 

I  suspect  that  Saint  Simon  had  lost  some  of  his  hold 
upon  the  marquis  since  his  arrival  in  a  country  where 
life  was  more  simple  and  the  manner  of  thought  more 
practical.  But  he  dated  the  decline  of  his  socialistic 
opinions  from  his  discussion  with  Priscilla  Ilaines. 


PRISC1LLA.  161 

The  next  Sunday  morning  he  strolled  out  of  the 
Le  Yert  House,  breathing  the  sweet  air  perfumed  with 
the  blossoms  of  a  thousand  apple  trees.  For  what 
yard  is  there  in  New  Geneva  that  has  not  apple  trees 
and  grapevines  ?  And  every  family  in  the  village 
keeps  a  cow,  and  every  cow  wears  a  bell,  and  every  bell 
is  on  a  different  key  ;  so  that  the  three  things  that  pen 
etrated  the  senses  of  the  marquis  on  this  Sunday 
morning  were  the  high  hills  that  stood  sentinels  on 
every  hand  about  the  valley  in  which  New  Geneva 
stood,  the  smell  of  the  superabundant  apple  blossoms, 
and  the  tinkle  and  tankle  and  tonkle  of  hundreds 
of  bells  on  the  cows  grazing  on  the  "  commons,"  as 
the  open  lots  were  called.  On  this  almost  painfully 
quiet  morning  D'Entremont  noticed  the  people  going 
one  way  and  another  to  the  early  Sunday  schools  in 
the  three  churches.  Just  as  he  came  to  the  pump  that 
stood  in  front  of  the  "  public  square  "  he  met  Pris- 
cilla.  At  her  heels  were  ten  ragged  little  ruffians, 
whom  she  was  accustomed  to  have  come  to  her  house 
every  Sunday  morning  and  walk  with  her  to  Sunday 
school. 

"  You  are  then  a  Sister  of  Charity  also,"  he  said 
in  French,  bowing  low  with  sincere  admiration  as  he 
passed  her.  And  then  to  himself  the  young  marquis 
reflected  :  "  We  Saint  Simonists  theorize  and  build 
castles  in  Spain  for  poor  people,  but  we  do  not  take 
hold  of  them."  He  walked  clear  round  the  square, 


102  DUFFELS. 

and  then  followed  the  steps  of  Priscilla  into  the  little 
brick  Methodist  church  which  in  that  day  had  neither 
steeple  nor  bell  nor  anything  churchlike  about  it 
except  the  two  arched  front  windows.  There  was 
not  even  a  fence  to  inclose  it,  nor  an  evergreen  nor 
an  ivy  about  it ;  only  a  few  straggling  black  locusts. 
For  the  puritanism  of  New  England  was  never  so 
hard  a  puritanism  as  the  Methodist  puritanism  of  a 
generation  ago  in  the  West — a  puritanism  that  forbade 
jewelry,  that  stripped  the  artificial  flowers  out  of  the 
bonnets  of  country  girls,  that  expelled,  and  even  yet 
expels,  a  country  boy  for  looking  with  wonder  at  a 
man  hanging  head  downward  from  a  trapeze  in  a 
circus  tent.  No  other  church,  not  even  the  Quaker, 
ever  laid  its  hand  more  entirely  upon  the  whole  life 
of  its  members.  The  dead  hand  of  Wesley  has  been 
stronger  than  the  living  hand  of  any  pope. 

Upon  the  hard,  open-backed,  unpainted  and  un 
varnished  oak  benches,  which  seemed  devised  to 
produce  discomfort,  sat  the  Sunday-school  classes,  and 
upon  one  of  these,  near  the  door,  D'Entremont  sat 
down.  lie  looked  at  the  bare  walls,  at  the  white 
pulpit,  at  the  carpetless  floors,  at  the  general  ugliness 
of  things,  the  box  stove,  which  stood  in  the  only  aisle, 
the  tin  chandeliers  with  their  luilf-burned  candles,  the 
ciirht-by-ten  lights  of  glass  in  the  windows,  and  he 
\V;H  favorably  impressed.  With  a  quick  conscit 
he  had  often  felt  the  frivolous  emptiness  of  a  worldly 


PB1SCILLA.  163 

life,  and  had  turned  toward  the  religion  of  his  uncle 
the  abbe  only  to  turn  away  again  antagonized  by 
what  seemed  to  him  frivolity  in  the  religious  pomp 
that  he  saw.  But  here  was  a  religion  not  only  with 
out  the  attractions  of  sensuous  surrounding,  but  a 
religion  that  maintained  its  vitality  despite  a  repelling 
plainness,  not  to  say  a  repulsive  ugliness,  in  its  ex 
ternal  forms.  For  could  he  doubt  the  force  of  a  re 
ligious  principle  that  had  divested  every  woman  in 
the  little  church  of  every  ornament  ?  Doubtless  he 
felt  the  narrowness  that  could  read  the  scriptural 
injunction  so  literally,  but  none  could  doubt  the 
strength  of  a  religious  conviction  that  submitted  to 
such  self-denial.  And  then  there  was  Priscilla,  with 
all  her  gifts,  sitting  in  the  midst  of  her  boys,  gathered 
from  that  part  of  the  village  known  as  "  Slabtown." 
Yes,  there  must  be  something  genuine  in  this  re 
ligious  life,  and  its  entire  contrast  to  all  that  the 
marquis  had  known  and  grown  weary  of  attracted 
him. 

As  eleven  o'clock  drew  on,  the  little  church  filled 
with  people.  The  men  sat  on  one  side  of  the  aisle  and 
the  women  on  the  other.  The  old  brethren  and  sisters, 
and  generally  those  who  prayed  in  prayer  meeting 
and  spoke  in  love  feast,  sat  near  the  front,  many  of 
them  on  the  cross  seats  near  the  pulpit,  which  were 
thence  said  by  scoffers  to  be  the  "Amen  corners." 
Any  one  other  than  a  leader  of  the  hosts  of  Israel 


1G4  DUFFELS. 

would  as  soon  have  thought  of  taking  a  seat  in  the 
pulpit  as  on  one  of  these  chief  seats  in  the  synagogue. 
The  marquis  sat  still  and  watched  the  audience  gath 
er,  while  one  of  the  good  brethren  led  the  con 
gregation  in  singing 

"  When  I  can  read  my  title  clear," 

which  hymn  was  the  usual  voluntary  at  the  opening 
of  service.  Then  the  old  minister  said,  "  Let  us 
continue  the  worship  of  God  by  singing  the  hymn  on 
page  554."  He  "  lined  "  the  hymn — that  is,  he  read 
each  couplet  before  it  was  sung.  With  the  coming  in 
of  hymn  books  and  other  newfangled  things  the  good 
old  custom  of  "  lining  the  hymn  "  has  disappeared. 
But  on  that  Sunday  morning  the  Marquis  d'Entre- 
mont  thought  he  had  never  heard  anything  more 
delightful  than  these  simple  melodies  sung  thus  lustily 
by  earnest  voices.  The  reading  of  each  couplet  by  the 
minister  before  it  was  sung  seemed  to  him  a  sort  of 
recitative.  He  knew  enough  of  English  to  find  that 
the  singing  was  hopeful  and  triumphant.  Wearied 
with  philosophy  and  Hose  with  the  pomp  of  the  world, 
he  wished  that  he  had  been  a  villager  in  New  Geneva, 
and  that  he  might  have  had  the  faith  to  sing  of  the 

" — land  of  pure  delight 
Where  saints  immortal  n-i.^n," 

with  as  much  earnestness  as  his  friend  Priscilla  on  the 
other  side  of  the  aisle.  In  the  prayer  that  followed 


PRISCILLA.  165 

D'Entremont  noticed  that  all  the  church  members 
knelt,  and  that  the  hearty  amens  were  not  intoned, 
but  were  as  spontaneous  as  the  rest  of  the  service. 
After  reverently  reading  a  chapter  the  old  minister 
said  :  "  Please  sing  without  lining, 

" '  A  charge  to  keep  I  have,' " 

and  then  the  old  tune  of  "  Kentucky  "  was  sung  with 
animation,  after  which  came  the  sermon,  of  which  the 
marquis  understood  but  few  words,  though  he  under 
stood  the  pantomime  by  which  the  venerable  minister 
represented  the  return  of  the  prodigal  and  the  wel 
come  he  received.  When  he  saw  the  tears  in  the  eyes 
of  the  hearers,  and  heard  the  half -repressed  "Bless 
the  Lord ! "  of  an  old  brother  or  sister,  and  saw  them 
glance  joyfully  at  one  another's  faces  as  the  sermon 
went  on,  he  was  strangely  impressed  with  the  gen 
uineness  of  the  feeling. 

But  the  class  meeting  that  followed,  to  which  he 
remained,  impressed  him  still  more.  The  venerable 
Scotchman  who  led  it  had  a  face  that  beamed  with 
sweetness  and  intelligence.  It  was  fortunate  that  the 
marquis  saw  so  good  a  specimen.  In  fact,  Priscilla 
trembled  lest  Mr.  Boreas,  the  stern,  hard-featured 
"  exhorter,"  should  have  been  invited  to  lead.  But 
as  the  sweet-faced  old  leader  called  upon  one  and 
another  to  speak,  aud  as  many  spoke  with  streaming 
eyes,  D'Entremont  quivered  with  sympathy.  He 


166  DUFFELS. 

was  not  so  blind  that  he  could  not  see  the  sham  and 
cant  of  some  of  the  speeches,  but  in  general  there  was 
much  earnestness  and  truth.  AVhen  Prix-ilia  n»r  in 
her  turn  and  spoke,  with  downcast  eyes,  he  felt  the 
beauty  and  simplicity  of  her  religious  life.  And  he 
rightly  judged  that  from  the  soil  of  a  cult  so  severe 
there  must  grow  some  noble  and  heroic  lives.  Last 
of  all  the  class  leader  reached  the  marquis,  whom  he 
did  not  know. 

"  "Will  our  strange  brother  tell  us  how  it  is  with 
him  to-day  ? "  he  asked. 

Priscilla  trembled.  What  awful  thing  might  hap 
pen  when  a  class  leader  invited  a  marquis,  who  could 
speak  no  English,  and  who  was  a  disciple  of  Saint 
Simon,  to  tell  his  religious  experience,  was  more  than 
she  could  divine.  If  the  world  had  come  to  an  end 
in  consequence  of  such  a  concatenation,  I  think  she 
would  hardly  have  been  surprised.  But  nothing  of 
the  sort  occurred.  To  her  astonishment  the  marquis 
rose  and  said  : 

"  Is  it  that  any  one  can  speak  French  ?  " 

A  brother  who  was  a  member  of  one  of  the  old 
Swiss  families  volunteered  his  services  as  interpreter, 
and  D'Entremont  proceeded  to  tell  them  how  much 
he  had  been  interested  in  the  exercises  ;  that  it  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  in  such  a  meeting,  and 
that  he  wished  he  had  the  simple  faith  which  they 
•bowed. 


PRISCILLA.  167 

Then  the  old  leader  said,  "  Let  us  engage  in  prayer 
for  our  strange  brother." 

And  the  marquis  bowed  his  knees  upon  the  hard 
floor. 

He  could  not  understand  much  that  was  said,  but 
he  knew  that  they  were  praying  for  him  ;  that  this 
white-haired  class  leader,  and  the  old  ladies  in  the  cor 
ner,  and  Priscilla,  were  interceding  with  the  Father 
of  all  for  him.  He  felt  more  confidence  in  the  effi 
cacy  of  their  prayers  than  he  had  ever  had  in  all  the 
intercessions  of  the  saints  of  which  he  was  told  wrhen 
a  boy.  For  surely  God  would  hear  such  as  Priscilla  ! 

It  happened  not  long  after  this  that  D'Entremont 
was  drawn  even  nearer  to  this  simple  Methodist  life, 
which  had  already  made  such  an  impression  on  his 
imagination,  by  an  incident  which  would  make  a 
chapter  if  this  story  were  intended  for  the  New  York 
Weekly  Dexter.  Indeed,  the  story  of  his  peril  in  a 
storm  and  freshet  on  Indian  Creek,  and  of  his  de 
liverance  by  the  courage  of  Henry  Stevens,  is  so  well 
suited  to  that  periodical  and  others  of  its  class,  that 
I  am  almost  sorry  that  Mrs.  Eden,  or  Cobb,  Jr.,  is 
not  the  author  of  this  story.  Either  of  them  could 
make  a  chapter  which  would  bear  the  title  of  "  A 
Thrilling  Incident."  But  with  an  unconquerable 
aversion  to  anything  and  everything  "  thrilling,"  the 
present  writer  can  only  say  in  plainest  prose  that  this 
incident  made  the  young  marquis  the  grateful  friend 


168  DUFFELS. 

of  his  deliverer,  Henry  Stevens,  who  happened  to  be 
a  zealous  Methodist,  and  about  his  own  age. 

The  effort  of  the  two  friends  to  hold  intercourse 
was  a  curious  spectacle.  Not  only  did  they  speak 
different  languages,  but  they  lived  in  different  worlds. 
Xot  only  did  D'Entremont  speak  a  very  limited  Eng 
lish,  while  Stevens  spoke  no  French,  but  D'Entre- 
mont's  life  and  thought  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  life  of  Stevens,  except  the  one  thing  that  made  a 
friendship  possible.  They  were  both  generous,  manly 
men,  and  each  felt  a  strong  drawing  to  the  other.  So 
it  came  about  that  when  they  tired  of  the  marquis's 
English  and  of  the  gulf  between  their  ideas,  they  used 
to  call  on  Priscilla  at  her  home  with  her  mother  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  village.  She  was  an  interpreter 
indeed  !  For  with  the  keenest  sympathy  she  entered 
into  the  world  in  which  the  marquis  lived,  which  had 
always  been  a  sort  of  intellectual  paradise  to  her.  It 
was  strange  indeed  to  meet  a  living  denizen  of  a 
\v<>rld  that  seemed  to  her  impossible  except  in  books. 
And  as  for  the  sphere  in  which  Stevens  moved,  it  was 
her  own.  He  and  she  had  been  schoolmates  from 
childhood,  had  looked  on  the  same  green  hills,  known 
the  same  people,  been  molded  of  the  same  strong 
religious  feeling.  Nothing  was  more  delightful  to 
D'Entremont  than  to  be  able  to  talk  to  Stevens,  unless 
it  was  to  have  so  good  an  excuse  for  conversation 
with  Priscilla  ;  and  nothing  was  so  pleasant  to  Henry 


PlilSCILLA.  169 

Stevens  as  to  be  able  to  understand  the  marquis,  unless 
it  was  to  talk  with  Priscilla  ;  while  to  Priscilla  those 
were  golden  moments,  in  which  she  passed  like  a 
quick-winged  messenger  between  her  own  native 
world  and  the  world  that  she  knew  only  in  books,  be 
tween  the  soul  of  one  friend  and  that  of  another. 
And  thus  grew  up  a  triple  friendship,  a  friendship 
afterward  sorely  tried.  For  how  strange  it  is  that 
what  brings  together  at  one  time  may  be  a  wall  of 
division  at  another. 

I  can  not  pretend  to  explain  just  how  it  came  about. 
Doubtless  Henry  Stevens's  influence  had  something  to 
do  with  it,  though  I  feel  sure  Priscilla's  had  more. 
Doubtless  the  marquis  was  naturally  susceptible  to 
religious  influences.  Certain  it  is  that  the  socialistic 
opinions,  never  very  deeply  rooted,  and  at  most  but  a 
reaction,  disappeared,  and  there  came  a  religious 
sentiment  like  that  of  his  friends.  He  was  drawn  to 
the  little  class  meeting,  which  seemed  to  him  so 
simple  a  confessional  that  all  his  former  notions  of 
"  liberty,  fraternity,  and  equality  "  were  satisfied  by  it. 
I  believe  he  became  a  "  probationer,"  but  his  creed 
was  never  quite  settled  enough  for  him  to  accept 
"  full  membership." 

Some  of  the  old  folks  could  not  refrain  from 
expressions  of  triumph  that  "  the  Lord  had  got  a  hold 
of  that  French  infidel  "  ;  and  old  Sister  Goodenough 

seized   his  hand,   and,  with   many  sighs  and  much 
12 


170  DUFFELS. 

upturning  of  the  eyes,  exhorted  him:  "Brother 
Markus,  give  up  everything!  give  up  everything, 
and  come  out  from  the  world  and  be  separated ! " 
AVhich  led  D'Entremont  to  remark  to  Stevens,  as  they 
walked  away,  that  "  Madame  Goodenough  was  vare 
curus  indeed  !"  And  Brother  Boreas,  the  exliorkT, 
who  had  the  misfortune  not  to  have  a  business  repu 
tation  without  blemish,  but  who  made  up  for  it  by 
rigid  scruples  in  regard  to  a  melodeon  in  the  church, 
and  by  a  vicarious  conscience  which  was  kindly  kept 
at  everybody's  service  but  his  own — old  Brother  Bo 
reas  always  remarked  in  regard  to  the  marquis,  that 
"  as  for  his  part  he  liked  a  deeper  repentance  and 
a  sounder  conversion."  But  the  gray-haired  old 
Scotch  class  leader,  whose  piety  was  at  a  premium 
everywhere,  would  take  D'Entremont's  hand  and  talk 
of  indifferent  subjects  while  he  learned  on  him  his 
affection  and  Christian  fellowship. 

To  the  marquis  Priscilla  was  a  perpetual  marvel. 
More  brilliant  women  he  had  known  in  Paris,  more 
devout  women  he  had  seen  there,  but  a  woman  so 
gifted  and  so  devout,  and,  above  all,  a  woman  so  true, 
so  modest,  and  of  such  perfect  delicacy  of  feeling  In* 
had  never  known.  And  how  poorly  these  words 
describe  her!  For  she  was  Priscilla;  and  all  who 
knew  her  will  understand  how  much  more  that  means 
than  any  adjectives  of  mine.  Certainly  Henry  Ste 
vens  did,  for  he  had  known  her  always,  and  would 


PRISCILLA.  171 

have  loved  her  always  had  he  dared.  It  was  only 
now,  as  she  interpreted  him  to  the  marquis  and  the 
marquis  to  him,  idealizing  and  elevating  the  thoughts 
of  both,  that  he  surrendered  himself  to  hope.  And 
so,  toward  the  close  of  the  summer,  affairs  came  to  this 
awkward  posture  that  these  two  sworn  friends  loved 
the  same  woman. 

D'Entremont  discovered  this  first.  More  a  man 
of  the  world  than  Henry  Stevens,  he  read  the  other's 
face  and  voice.  He  was  perturbed.  Had  it  occurred 
two  years  before,  he  might  have  settled  the  matter 
easily  by  a  duel,  for  instance.  And  even  now  his  pas 
sion  got  the  better  for  a  while  of  all  his  good  feelings 
and  Christian  resolutions.  When  he  got  back  to  the 
Le  Vert  House  with  his  unpleasant  discovery  he  was 
burning  like  a  furnace.  In  spite  of  a  rain  storm  just 
beginning  and  a  dark  night,  he  strode  out  and  walked 
he  knew  not  whither.  He  found  himself,  he  knew 
not  how,  on  the  bank  of  the  Ohio.  He  untied  a  skiff 
and  pushed  out  into  the  river.  How  to  advance  him 
self  over  his  rival  was  his  first  thought.  But  this  dark 
ness  and  this  beating  rain  and  this  fierce  loneliness 
reminded  him  of  that  night  when  he  had  clung  des 
perately  to  the  abutment  of  the  bridge  that  spanned 
Indian  Creek,  and  when  the  courage  and  self-pos 
session  of  Henry  Stevens  had  rescued  him.  Could  he 
be  the  rival  of  a  man  who  had  gone  down  into  the 
flood  that  he  might  save  the  exhausted  marquis  ? 


17U  DUFFELS. 

Then  lie  hated  himself.  "Why  had  he  not  drowned 
that  night  ?  And  with  this  feeling  of  self-disgust 
added  to  his  general  mental  misery  and  the  physical 
misery  that  the  rain  brought  to  him,  there  came  the 
great  temptation  to  write  "  Fin"  in  French  fashion, 
by  jumping  into  the  water.  But  something  in  the 
influence  of  Priscilla  and  that  class  meeting  caused 
him  to  take  a  better  resolution,  and  he  returned  to  the 
hotel. 

The  next  day  he  sent  for  Henry  Stevens  to  come 
to  his  room. 

"  Henry,  I  am  going  to  leave  to-night  on  the  mail 
boat.  I  am  going  back  to  New  Orleans,  and  thence 
to  France.  You  love  Priscilla.  You  are  a  noble 
man ;  you  will  make  her  happy.  I  have  read  your 
love  in  your  face.  Meet  me  at  the  river  to-night. 
When  you  are  ready  to  be  married,  let  me  know, 
that  I  may  send  some  token  of  my  love  for  both.  Do 
not  tell  mademoiselle  that  I  am  ^ning  ;  but  tell  her 
good-by  for  me  afterward.  Now,  I  must  park." 

Henry  went  out  stupefied.  "What  did  it  mean  ( 
And  why  was  he  half  glad  that  D'Entremont  was 
going  ?  By  degrees  he  got  the  better  of  his  selfish 
ness. 

"Marquis  d'Entremont,"  he  said,  breaking  into 
his  room,  "you  must  not  go  away.  You  love 
Priscilla.  You  have  everything  —  learning,  money, 
travel.  I  have  nothing." 


PRISCILLA.  173 

"  Nothing  but  a  good  heart,  which  I  have  not," 
said  D'Entremont. 

"  I  will  never  marry  Priscilla,"  said  Henry,  "  un 
less  she  deliberately  chooses  to  have  me  in  preference 
to  you." 

To  this  arrangement,  so  equitable,  the  marquis 
consented,  and  the  matter  was  submitted  to  Priscilla  by 
letter.  Could  she  love  either,  and  if  either,  which  ? 
She  asked  a  week  for  deliberation. 

It  was  not  easy  to  decide.  By  all  her  habits  of 
thought  and  feeling,  by  all  her  prejudices,  by  all  her 
religious  life,  she  was  drawn  toward  the  peaceful  and 
perhaps  prosperous  life  that  opened  before  her  as  the 
wife  of  Henry  Stevens,  living  in  her  native  village, 
near  to  her  mother,  surrounded  by  her  old  friends, 
and  with  the  best  of  men  for  a  husband.  But  by  all 
the  clamor  of  her  intellectual  nature  for  something 
better  than  her  narrow  life,  by  all  her  joy  in  the 
conversation  of  D'Entremont,  the  only  man  her 
equal  in  culture  she  had  ever  known,  she  felt  drawn 
to  be  the  wife  of  the  marquis.  Yet  if  there  were 
roses,  there  were  thorns  in  such  a  path.  The  village 
girl  knew  that  madame  la  marquise  must  lead  a  life 
very  different  from  any  she  had  known.  She  must 
bear  with  a  husband  whose  mind  was  ever  in  a  state 
of  unrest  and  skepticism,  and  she  must  meet  the  great 
world. 

In  truth  there  were  two  Priscillas.     There  was  the 


17±  DUFFELS. 

Priscilla  that  her  neighbors  knew,  the  Priscilla  that 
went  to  church,  the  Priscilla  that  taught  Primary 
School  No.  3.  There  was  the  other  Priscilla,  that 
n-ail  Chaucer  and  Shakespeare,  Moliere  and  De  Stael. 
With  this  Priscilla  New  Geneva  had  nothing  to  do. 
And  it  was  the  doubleness  of  her  nature  that  caused 
her  indecision. 

Then  her  conscience  came  in.  Because  there 
might  be  worldly  attractions  on  one  side,  she  leaned 
to  the  other.  To  reject  a  poor  suitor  and  accept  a 
rich  and  titled  one,  had  something  of  treason 
in  it. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  she  sent  for  them  both. 
Henry  Stevens's  flatboat  had  been  ready  to  start  for 
New  Orleans  for  two  days.  And  Challeau,  Lafort 
&  Company  were  expecting  the  marquis,  who  was  in 
some  sort  a  ward  of  theirs.  Henry  Stevens  and  the 
Marquis  Antoine  d'Entremont  walked  side  by  side,  in 
an  awkward  silence,  to  the  little  vine-covered  cottage. 
Of  that  interview  I  do  not  know  enough  to  write 
fully.  But  I  know  that  Priscilla  said  such  words  as 
these  : 

"This  is  an  awful  responsibility.  I  suppose  a 
judge  trembles  when  he  must  pass  sentence  of  death. 
But  I  must  make  a  decision  that  involves  the  hap 
piuess  of  both  my  friends  and  myself.  I  can  not  do 
it  now.  Will  you  wait  until  you  both  return  in  the 
>  I  have  a  reason  that  I  can  not  explain  for 


PRISCILLA.  175 

wishing  this  matter  postponed.  It  will  be  decided 
for  me,  perhaps." 

I  do  not  know  that  she  said  just  these  words,  and  I 
know  she  did  not  say  them  all  at  once.  But  so  they 
parted.  And  Miss  Nancy  More,  who  retailed  rib 
bons  and  scandal,  and  whose  only  effort  at  mental 
improvement  had  been  the  plucking  out  of  the  hairs 
contiguous  to  her  forehead,  that  she  might  look  in 
tellectual — Miss  Nancy  More  from  her  lookout  at 
the  window  descried  the  two  friends  walking  away 
from  Mrs.  Haines's  cottage,  and  remarked,  as  she  had 
often  remarked  before,  that  it  was  "  absolutely  scan- 
dalious  for  a  young  woman  who  was  a  professor  to 
have  two  beaux  at  once,  and  such  good  friends,  too  ! " 

Gifted  girls  like  Priscilla  usually  have  a  back 
ground  in  some  friend,  intelligent,  quiet,  restful. 
Anna  Poindexter,  a  dark,  thoughtful  girl,  was  some 
times  spoken  of  as  "  Priscilla's  double  "  ;  but  she  was 
rather  Priscilla's  opposite :  her  traits  were  comple 
mentary  to  those  of  her  friend.  The  two  were  all 
but  inseparable  ;  and  so,  when  Priscilla  found  herself 
the  next  evening  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  she  natu 
rally  found  Anna  with  her.  Slowly  the  flatboat  of 
which  Henry  Stevens  was  owner  and  master  drifted 
by,  while  the  three  or  four  men  at  each  long  oar  strode 
back  and  forward  on  the  deck  as  they  urged  the  boat 
on.  Henry  was  standing  on  the  elevated  bench  made 
for  the  pilot,  holding  the  long  "  steering  oar "  and 


176  DUFFELS. 

guiding  the  craft.  As  his  manly  form  in  the  western 
sunlight  attracted  their  attention,  both  the  girls  were 
.-truck  with  admiration.  Doth  waved  their  handker 
chiefs,  and  Henry  returned  the  adieu  by  swiiiLrin.ir  his 
hat.  So  intent  was  he  on  watching  them  that  he  for 
got  his  duty,  and  one  of  the  men  was  obliged  to  call 
out,  "  Swing  her  round,  captain,  or  the  mail  boat  '11 
sink  11-." 

Hardly  was  the  boat  swung  out  of  the  way  when 
the  tall-chimneyed  mail  boat  swept  by. 

"  See  the  marquis !  "  cried  Anna,  and  again  adiciix 
were  waved.  And  the  marquis  stepped  to  the  guard 
and  called  out  to  Henry,  "  I'll  see  you  in  New  Or 
leans,"  and  the  swift  steamer  immediately  bore  him 
out  of  speaking  distance.  And  Henry  watched  him 
disappear  with  a  choking  feeling  that  thus  the  noble 
man  was  to  outstrip  him  in  life. 

"  See  !  "  said  Anna,  "  you  are  a  lucky  girl.  You 
have  your  choice ;  you  can  go  through  life  on  the 
steamboat  or  on  the  flatboat.  Of  course  you'll  go  by 
steam." 

"  There  are  explosions  on  steamboats  sometimes," 
said  Priscilla.  Then  turning,  she  noticed  a  singular 
expression  on  Anna's  face.  Her  insight  was  quick, 
and  she  said,  "Confess  that  yim  would  choose  the  Mat- 
float."  And  Anna  turned  away. 

"  Two  strings  to  her  bow,  or  two  beaux  to  her 
string,  I  should  say,"  and  she  did  say  it,  for  this  was 


PRISC1LLA.  177 

Miss  More's  comment  on  the  fact  which  she  had  just 
learned,  that  Miss  Haines  had  received  letters  from 
"the  lower  country,"  the  handwriting  of  the  direc 
tions  of  which  indicated  that  she  had  advices  from 
both  her  friends.  But  poor  Miss  More,  with  never  a 
string  to  her  bow  and  never  a  beau  to  her  string,  might 
be  forgiven  for  shooting  popguns  that  did  no  harm. 

There  was  a  time  when  Priscilla  had  letters  from 
only  one.  Henry  was  very  ill,  and  D'Entremont  wrote 
bulletins  of  his  condition  to  Priscilla  and  to  his  fam 
ily.  In  one  of  these  it  was  announced  that  he  was 
beyond  recovery,  and  Priscilla  and  Anna  mingled 
their  tears  together.  Then  there  came  a  letter  saying 
that  he  was  better.  Then  he  was  worse  again.  And 
then  better. 

In  those  days  the  mail  was  brought  wholly  by  steam 
boats,  and  it  took  many  days  for  intelligence  to  come. 
But  the  next  letter  that  Priscilla  had  was  from  Henry 
Stevens  himself.  It  was  filled  from  first  to  last  with 
praises  of  the  marquis ;  that  he  had  taken  Henry  out 
of  his  boarding  place,  and  put  him  into  his  own  large 
room  in  the  St.  Charles  ;  that  he  had  nursed  him  with 
more  than  a  friend's  tenderness,  scarcely  sleeping  at 
all ;  that  he  had  sold  his  cargo,  relieved  his  mind  of 
care,  employed  the  most  prominent  physicians,  and 
anticipated  his  every  want — all  this  and  more  the  let 
ter  told. 

And  the  very  next  steamboat  from  the  lower  coun- 


1 7S  DUFFELS. 

try,  the  great  heavy  Duke  of  Orleans,  with  a  green 
half  moon  of  lattice  work  in  each  paddle  box,  brought 
the  conva!e.-eent  Henry  and  his  frirnd.  Doth  were  in 
vited  t<>  supper  at  the  hou>e  of  1'riscilla's  mother  on  the 
t  veiling  after  their  arrival.  ^Neither  of  them  liked  to 
face  Priscilla's  decision,  whatever  it  might  be,  hut  they 
were  more  than  ever  resolved  that  it  should  not  in  any 
way  disturb  their  friendship.  So  they  walked  together 
to  the  cottage. 

Priscilla's  mother  was  not  well  enough  to  come  to 
the  table,  and  she  had  to  entertain  both.  It  was  hard 
for  either  of  the  guests  to  be  cheerful,  but  Priscilla  at 
least  was  not  depressed  by  the  approaching  decision. 
Equally  attentive  to  both,  no  one  could  have  guessed 
in  which  direction  her  preference  lay. 

"  We  must  enjoy  this  supper,"  she  said.  "  We  must 
celebrate  Henry's  recovery  and  the  goodness  of  his 
nurse  together.  Let's  put  the  future  out  of  sight  and 
be  happy." 

Her  gayety  proved  infectious,  and  as  she  served 
her  friends  with  her  own  hands  they  both  abandoned 
themselves  to  the  pleasure  of  the  moment  and  talked 
of  cheerful  and  amusing  things. 

Only  when  they  rose  to  leave  did  she  allow  her 
face  to  become  sober,  and  even  then  the  twilight  of 
her  joyousness  lingered  in  her  smile  as  she  spoke, 
facing  them  both : 

"  How  I  have  enjoyed  your  coming !     I  wanted  us 


PRISCILLA.  1Y9 

to  have  this  supper  together  before  coming  to  the  sub 
ject  you  spoke  of  before  leaving.  I  shall  have  to  say 
what  will  give  you  both  pain."  There  was  a  moment's 
pause.  Then  she  resumed  : 

"  The  matter  has  been  decided  for  me.  I  can 
marry  neither  of  you.  My  father  and  all  my  brothers 
and  sisters  have  died  of  consumption.  I  am  the  only 
one  left  of  five.  In  a  few  months — "  She  lowered 
her  voice,  which  trembled  a  little  as  she  glanced  toward 
her  mother's  room — "  my  poor  mother  will  be  child 
less." 

For  the  first  time,  in  the  imperfect  light,  they  no 
ticed  the  flushed  cheeks,  and  for  the  first  time  they 
detected  the  quick  breathing.  When  they  walked 
away  the  two  friends  were  nearer  than  ever  by  virtue 
of  a  common  sorrow. 

And  as  day  after  day  they  visited  her  in  company, 
the  public,  and  particularly  that  part  of  the  public 
which  peeped  out  of  Miss  Nancy  More's  windows, 
was  not  a  little  mystified.  Miss  More  thought  a 
girl  who  was  drawing  near  to  the  solemn  and  awful 
realities  of  eternal  bliss  should  let  such  worldly  vani 
ties  as  markusses  alone  ! 

A  singular  change  came  over  Priscilla  in  one  re 
gard.  As  the  prospect  of  life  faded  out,  she  was  no 
longer  in  danger  of  being  tempted  by  the  title  and 
wealth  of  the  marquis.  She  could  be  sure  that  her 
heart  was  not  bribed.  And  when  this  restraint  of  a 


DUFFELS. 

conscience  abnormally  sensitive  was  removed,  it  be 
came  every  day  more  and  more  clear  to  her  that  she 
loved  D'Entremont.  Of  all  whom  she  had  ever  known, 
he  only  was  a  companion.  And  as  he  brought  her 
choice  passages  from  favorite  writers  every  day,  and  as 
her  mind  grew  with  unwonted  rapidity  under  the  influ 
ence  of  that  strange  disease  which  shakes  down  the 
body  while  it  ripens  the  soul,  she  felt  more  and  more 
that  she  was  growing  out  of  sympathy  with  all  that  was 
narrow  and  provincial  in  her  former  life,  and  into 
sympathy  with  the  great  world,  and  with  Antoine 
d'Entremont,  who  was  the  representative  of  the  world 
to  her. 

This  rapidly  growing  gulf  between  his  own  intel 
lectual  life  and  that  of  Priscilla  Henry  Stevens  felt 
keenly.  But  there  is  one  great  compensation  for  a 
soul  like  Henry's.  Men  and  women  of  greater  gifts 
might  outstrip  him  in  intellectual  growth.  He  could 
not  add  one  cell  to  his  brain,  or  make  the  slightest 
change  in  his  temperament.  But  neither  the  mar 
quis  nor  Priscilla  could  excel  him  in  that  generosity 
which  does  not  always  go  with  genius,  and  which  is 
not  denied  to  the  man  of  the  plainest  gifts.  He  wrote 
to  the  marquis : 

"  MY  I»KAK  FI:II:M>:  You  are  a  good  and  gener 
ous  friend.  I  have  read  in  her  voice  and  her  eyes 
what  the  decision  of  Priscilla  must  have  been.  If  I 


PRISCILLA.  181 

had  not  been  blind,  I  ought  to  have  seen  it  before 
in  the  difference  between  us.  Now  I  know  that  it 
will  be  a  comfort  to  you  to  have  that  noble  woman  die 
your  wife.  I  doubt  not  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  her. 
Do  you  think  it  will  be  any  consolation  to  me  to  have 
been  an  obstacle  in  the  way  ?  I  hope  you  do  not  think 
so  meanly  of  me,  and  that  you  and  Priscilla  will  give 
me  the  only  consolation  I  can  have  in  our  common 
sorrow — the  feeling  that  I  have  been  able  to  make  her 
last  days  more  comfortable  and  your  sorrow  more 
bearable.  If  you  refuse,  I  shall  always  reproach 
myself. 

"  HENRY." 

I  need  not  tell  of  the  discussions  that  ensued.  But 
it  was  concluded  that  it  was  best  for  all  three  that 
Priscilla  and  the  marquis  should  be  married,  much 
to  the  disgust  of  Miss  Nancy  More,  who  thought  that 
"  she'd  better  be  sayin'  her  prayers.  What  good 
would  it  do  to  be  a  march-oness  and  all  that  when 
she  was  in  her  coffin  ?  " 

A  wedding  in  prospect  of  death  is  more  affecting 
than  a  funeral.  Only  Henry  Stevens  and  Anna  Poin- 
dexter  were  to  be  present.  Priscilla's  mother  had 
completed  the  arrangements,  blinded  by  tears.  I 
think  she  could  have  dressed  Priscilla  for  her  coffin 
with  less  suffering.  The  white  dress  looked  so  like 
a  shroud,  under  those  sunken  cheeks  as  white  as  the 


182  DUFFELS. 

dress!  Once  or  twice  Priscilla  had  drawn  her  moth 
er's  head  to  her  bosom  and  wept. 

"  Poor  mother !  "  she  would  say  ;  "  so  soon  to  be 
alone !  But  Antoinc  will  be  your  son." 

Just  as  the  dressing  of  the  pale  bride  was  com 
pleted,  there  came  one  of  those  sudden  breakdowns 
to  which  a  consumptive  is  liable.  The  doctor  gave 
hope  of  but  a  few  hours  of  life.  When  the  mar 
quis  came  he  was  heartbroken  to  see  her  lying  there, 
so  still,  so  white — dying.  She  took  his  hand.  She 
beckoned  to  Anna  and  Henry  Stevens  to  stand  by 
her,  and  then,  with  tear-blinded  eyes,  the  old  minister 
married  them  for  eternity  ! 

Outside  the  door  Priscilla's  class  of  Slabtown  boys 
stood  with  some  roses  and  hollyhocks  they  had  thought 
to  bring  for  her  wedding  or  her  funeral,  they  hardly 
knew  which.  They  were  all  abashed  at  the  idea  of 
entering  the  house. 

"  You  go  in,  Bill,"  said  one. 

"  No,  you  go.  I  can't  do  it,"  said  Bill,  scratching 
the  gravel  walk  with  his  toes. 

"I  say  somebody's  got  to  go,"  said  the  first 
speaker. 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Boone  Jones,  the  toughest  of  the 
party.  "  I  ain't  afeerd,"  lie  added  hu>kily.  as  he  tuok 
the  flowers  in  his  hand  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

But  when  Boone  got  in,  and  saw  Priscilla  lying 
there  FO  white,  he  began  to  choke  with  a  strange  emo- 


PRISCILLA.  183 

tion.  Priscilla  tried  to  take  the  flowers  from  his 
hand,  but  Anna  Poindexter  took  them.  Priscilla  tried 
to  thank  him,  but  she  could  only  whisper  his  name. 

"  Boone — "  she  said,  and  ceased  from  weakness. 

But  the  lad  did  not  wait.  He  burst  into  weeping, 
and  bolted  out  the  door. 

"  I  say,  boys,"  he  repeated,  choking  his  sobs,  "  she's 
just  dyin',  and  she  said  Boone — you  know — and 
couldn't  say  no  more,  and  I  couldn't  stand  it." 

Feeling  life  ebbing,  Priscilla  took  the  hand  of  the 
marquis.  Then,  holding  to  the  hand  of  D'Entremont, 
she  beckoned  Henry  to  come  near.  As  he  bent  over 
her  she  whispered,  looking  significantly  at  the  marquis, 
"  Henry,  God  bless  you,  my  noble-hearted  friend ! " 
And  as  Henry  turned  away,  the  marquis  put  his  arm 
about  him,  but  said  nothing. 

Priscilla's  nature  abhorred  anything  dramatic  in 
dying,  or  rather  she  did  not  think  of  effect  at  all ;  so 
she  made  no  fine  speeches.  But  when  she  had  ceased 
to  breathe,  the  old  preacher  said,  "  The  bridegroom  has 
come." 

She  left  an  envelope  for  Henry.  "What  it  had 
in  it  no  one  but  Henry  ever  knew.  I  have  heard  him 
say  that  it  was  one  word,  which  became  the  key  to  all 
the  happiness  of  his  after  life.  Judging  from  the 
happiness  he  has  in  his  home  with  Anna,  his  wife,  it 
would  not  be  hard  to  tell  what  the  word  was.  The 
last  time  I  was  at  his  house  I  noticed  that  their  eldest 


184:  DUFFELS. 

child  was  named  Priscilla,  and  that  the  boy  who  came 
next  was  Antoine.  Hi-nry  told  me  that  Priscilla  left 
a  sort  of  "  will  "  for  the  marquis  in  which  she  asked 
him  to  do  the  Christian  work  that  she  would  have 
liked  to  do.  Nothing  could  have  been  wiser  if  she 
had  sought  only  his  own  happiness,  for  in  activity  for 
others  is  the  safety  of  a  restless  mind.  He  had  made 
himself  the  special  protector  of  the  ten  little  Slabtown 
urchins. 

Henry  told  me  in  how  many  ways,  through  Chal- 
leau,  Lafort  &  Company,  the  marquis  had  contrived  to 
contribute  to  his  prosperity  without  offending  his  deli 
cacy,  lie  found  himself  possessed  of  practically  un 
limited  credit  through  the  guarantee  which  the  great 
New  Orleans  banking  house  was  always  ready  to  give. 

"  What  is  that  fine  building  ?  "  I  said,  pointing  to 
a  picture  on  the  wall. 

"  Oh  !  that  is  the  '  Hospice  de  Sainte  Priscille,' 
which  Antoine  has  erected  in  Paris.  People  there 
call  it  '  La  Marquise.' ' 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Priscilla' s  mother,  who  sat  by, 
"  Antoine  is  coming  to  see  us  next  month,  and  is  to 
look  after  his  Slabtown  friends  when  he  comes.  They 
used  to  call  him  at  first  '  Priscilla's  Frenchman.'  " 

And  to  this  day  Miss  More  declares  that  markusses 
is  a  thing  she  can't  no  ways  understand. 

1871. 


TALKING  FOE  LIFE. 

FOR  many  years  following  the  war  I  felt  that  I 
owed  a  grudge  to  the  medical  faculty.  Having  a  ro 
mantic  temperament  and  a  taste  for  heroics,  I  had 
wished  to  fight  and  eat  hard  tack  for  my  country. 
But  whenever  I  presented  the  feeble  frame  in  which  I 
then  dwelt,  the  medical  man  stood  in  my  path  with 
the  remonstrance,  "  Why  should  you  fill  another  cot  in 
a  hospital  and  another  strip  in  the  graveyard  ? "  In 
these  late  years  I  have  been  cured  of  my  regrets ;  not 
by  service-pension  slogans  and  pension  agents'  circu 
lars,  as  you  may  imagine,  but  by  the  war  reminis 
cence  which  has  flooded  the  magazines,  invaded 
every  social  circle,  and  rendered  the  listener's  life  a 
burden.  In  any  group  of  men  of  my  own  age,  North 
or  South,  I  do  not  dare  introduce  any  military  topic, 
not  even  the  Soudan  campaign  of  General  Wolseley, 
or  the  East  Indian  yarns  of  Private  Mulvaney,  lest  I 
should  bring  down  upon  my  head  stories  of  campaign 
ing  on  the  Shenandoah,  the  Red  River,  or  the  Rap- 
pahannock — stories  that  have  gained  like  rolling  snow 
balls  during  the  rolling  years.  Not  that  the  war 
13 


186  DUFFELS. 

reminiscence  is  inherently  tedious,  but  it  is  fright 
fully  overworked.  A  scientific  friend  of  mine  of 
great  endurance  has  discovered,  by  a  series  of  pro 
longed  observations  and  experiments  at  the  expense 
of  his  own  health,  that  only  one  man  in  twenty-seven 
hundred  and  forty-six  can  tell  a  story  well,  and  that 
only  one  in  forty-three  can  narrate  a  personal  ex 
perience  bearably.  If  I  had  gone  into  the  army  the 
chances  are  forty-two  to  one  that  I  should  have  bored 
my  friends  intolerably  from  that  day  to  this,  and 
twenty-seven  hundred  and  forty -five  to  one  against  my 
stories  having  anything  engaging  in  them.  I  thank 
Heaven  for  the  medical  man  that  made  me  stay  at 
home. 

But  once  in  a  while  it  has  been  my  luck  to  meet 
among  old  soldiers  the  twenty-seven  hundred  and 
forty-sixth  man  who  can  tell  a  story  well.  Ben  Til- 
lye  is  one  of  them,  and  here  is  an  anecdote  I  heard 
from  him,  which  is  rather  interesting,  and  which  may 
even  be  true : 

"  I  had  just  been  promoted  to  a  first  lieutenancy, 
and  thought  that  I  saw  a  generalship  in  the  dim  dis 
tance.  "Why,  with  such  prospects,  I  should  have  strag 
gled  right  into  the  arms  of  three  bushwhackers,  I  do 
not  know. 

"Falling  into  the  hands  of  guerrillas  was  a  serious 
liii.-iness  then.  An  order  had  been  issued  by  the  wise 
acre  in  command  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  that 


TALKING  FOR  LIFE.  187 

all  guerrillas  taken  should  be  put  to  death.  This  did 
not  deprive  the  bushwhackers  of  a  single  man,  but 
they  naturally  retaliated  by  a  counter-order  that  all 
prisoners  of  theirs  should  be  shot.  In  this  game  of  pop 
and  pop  again  the  guerrillas  had  decidedly  the  advan 
tage,  and  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  fall  in  their  way.  I 
had  hardly  surrendered  before  I  regretted  that  I  had 
not  resisted  capture.  I  might  have  killed  one  of  them, 
or  at  least  have  forced  them  to  shoot  me  on  the  spot, 
which  would  not  have  been  so  much  worse  than  dying 
in  cold  blood  the  next  morning,  and  which  would 
have  led  to  a  pursuit  and  the  breaking  up  of  their 
camp.  But  here  I  was  disarmed,  and  after  an  hour's 
march  seated  among  them  bushwhacking  in  an  old 
cabin  on  a  hillside. 

"  The  leader  of  the  party  of  three  who  had  cap 
tured  me  seemed  a  kindly  man — one  that,  if  it  were 
his  duty  to  behead  me,  would  prefer  to  give  me  chloro 
form  before  the  amputation.  For  obvious  reasons  I 
made  myself  as  agreeable  as  possible  to  him.  I  tried 
also  to  talk  to  the  captain  of  the  band  after  I  reached 
the  camp,  but  he  repelled  my  friendly  advances  with 
something  like  surliness.  I  reasoned  that  he  intended 
to  execute  me,  and  did  not  wish  to  have  his  feelings 
taxed  with  regrets.  At  any  rate,  after  finding  that  he 
could  get  no  information  of  value  from  me,  he  went 
on  with  his  writing  at  a  table  made  by  propping  up 
an  old  wooden  shutter  in  the  corner  of  the  cabin. 


1SS  DUFFELS. 

Meantime  I  reflected  that  the  only  way  in  which  I 
could  avoid  my  doom  was  by  awakening  a  friendly 
sympathy  in  the  minds  of  my  captors.  I  fell  to  talk 
ing  for  life.  I  trotted  out  my  funniest  stories,  and 
the  eight  men  about  me  laughed  heartily  as  I  pro 
ceeded. 

"  The  captain  was  visibly  annoyed.  My  interloc 
utor  in  this  conversation  was  his  second  in  authority, 
the  one  who  had  captured  me.  He  had  no  distinct 
mark  of  rank,  but  I  fancied  him  to  be  a  sergeant.  At 
length  the  captain  turned  to  him,  and  said,  '  Jones,  I 
can't  write  if  you  keep  up  this  talking.' 

"  I  knew  that  this  was  meant  as  a  hint  for  me,  but 
I  knew  also  that  my  very  last  hope  lay  in  rny  winning 
the  hearts  of  the  guerrilla  officer  and  his  men.  So 
with  slightly  lowered  voice  I  kept  on  talking  to  the 
nu'ii,  who  looked  at  me  from  under  their  ragged 
slouched  hats  with  the  most  eager  interest.  At  the 
end  of  one  of  my  stories  their  amusement  broke  forth 
into  hearty  laughter.  The  captain  stopped  writing, 
and  turned  upon  me  with  the  remark,  only  half  in 
jest,  I  thought : 

"  *  I'll  have  to  shoot  you,  lieutenant.  You  must 
be  a  valuable  man  in  the  Yankee  cam]).' 

"I  forced  a  laugh,  but  went  on  with  my  stories, 
explaining  to  the  captain  that  I  meant  to  enjoy  my 
last  hours  at  all  hazards.  The  accent  of  those  about 
me  reminded  me  irresistibly  of  the  year  that  I,  though 


TALKING  FOR  LIFE.  189 

of  Northern  birth,  had  spent  in  a  school  in  eastern 
Virginia. 

"  ;  You  are  a  Virginian,'  I  said  to  Sergeant  Jones. 


"  <  What  county  ?  ' 

"  l  I'm  from  Powhatan.' 

"  '  I  went  to  school  in  the  next  county,'  I  said,  '  at 
what  was  called  Amelia  Academy.' 

"  '  Goatville  ?  '  demanded  Jones. 

"  '  Yes,  I  went  to  old  Goat.  That's  what  we  all  called 
him  on  account  of  his  red  goatee.  We  never  dated  a 
letter  otherwise  than  "  Goatville."  And  yet  we  loved 
and  revered  the  principal.  Did  you  go  there  ?  ' 

"  '  No,'  said  Jones,  '  but  I  knew  a  good  many  who 
did.' 

"  Well,  from  this  I  broke  into  my  stock  of  school 
boy  stories  of  the  jokes  about  the  '  cat,'  or  roll  pud 
ding  we  had  twice  a  week,  of  the  rude  tricks  put  upon 
greenhorns  and  their  retorts  in  kind.  The  men  en 
joyed  these  yarns,  and  even  the  captain  was  amused,  as 
I  inferred,  because  I  could  no  longer  hear  his  pen 
scratching,  for  he  sat  behind  me. 

"  '  Did  you  ever  swim  in  the  Appomattox  ?  '  asked 
Jones. 

"  '  Yes,'  I  replied  ;  '  I  came  near  losing  my  life  there 
once.  I  had  a  roommate  who  was  a  good  swimmer. 
I  was  also  a  pretty  good  swimmer,  and  we  foolishly 
undertook  for  a  small  wager  to  see  who  could  swim 


190  DUFFELS. 

the  river  the  oftenest,  only  stopping  to  touch  bottom 
with  our  toes  at  each  side.  We  went  over  side  by 
eide  five  times.  The  sixth  crossing  I  fell  behind  ; 
it  was  all  I  could  do,  and  at  its  close  I  crept  out  on 
the  bank  and  lay  down.  My  roommate,  Tom  Free 
man,  struck  out  for  a  seventh.  He  was  nearly  over 
when  the  boys  by  my  side  uttered  a  cry.  Tom  was 
giving  out.  lie  was  in  a  sort  of  hysterical  laughter 
from  exhaustion,  and,  though  able  to  keep  above  the 
water,  he  could  not  make  any  headway.  I  got  to  my 
feet  and  begged  the  boys  to  go  to  his  help,  but  they 
all  had  their  clothes  on,  and  they  had  so  much  con 
fidence  in  Freeman  as  a  swimmer  that  they  only  said, 
"He'll  get  out." 

"  *  But  I  could  see  no  way  in  which  he  could  get 
out.  I  had  recovered  a  little  by  this  time,  and  1  seized 
a  large  piece  of  driftwood,  plunged  into  the  river 
again,  and  pushed  this  old  limb  of  a  tree  across  the 
stream  ahead  of  me.  Freeman  was  sinking  out  of 
sight  when  he  got  his  hand  on  the  bough.  I  was 
able  to  push  him  into  water  where  he  could  get  a 
footing,  but  I  somehow  lost  my  own  hold  on  the  wood 
and  found  myself  sinking,  utterly  faint  from  a  sort  of 
collapse.  There  was  a  tree  that  had  fallen  into  the 
stream  a  few  yards  below.  I  was  ju>t  ;il>lo  to  turn  on 
my  back  and  keep  afloat  until  I  could  grasp  the  top 
branches  of  the  tree.  Then  I  crept  out — I  never  knew 
how,  for  I  was  only  half  conscious.  But  I'll  never 


TALKING  FOR  LIFE.  191 

forget  the  cry  from  the  boys  on  the  other  side  of  the 
stream  that  reached  my  ears  as  I  lay  exhausted  along 
side  of  Freeman  on  the  bank.  "  Hurrah  for  Tilley ! " 
they  shouted.' 

"  '  No,  they  didn't.'  It  was  the  captain  who  con 
tradicted  me  thus  abruptly,  and  I  looked  up  in  sur 
prise. 

"  '  That's  not  what  they  called  you  in  those  days,' 
said  the  captain.  '  They  shouted,  "  Hurrah  for  Stum- 
pey  !  "  They  never  called  you  anything  but  "  Stum- 
pey." ' 

"  '  Who  in  thunder  are  you  ? '  I  said,  getting  to  my 
feet. 

" '  Tom  Freeman,'  replied  the  captain,  rising  and 
grasping  my  hand. 

"  Well,  I  wasn't  shot,  as  you  can  see  for  your 
selves." 


PERIWINKLE. 

"  BRING  me  that  slate,  Henriettar  ! " 

Miss  Tucker  added  a  superfluous  r  to  some  words, 
but  then  she  made  amends  by  dropping  the  final  r 
where  it  was  preceded  by  a  broad  vowel.  If  she 
said  idear,  she  compounded  for  it  by  wiving  waw.  She 
said  lor  for  law,  and  dror  for  draw,  but  then  she  said 
'•'/A  for  car.  Some  of  our  Americans  are  as  free  with 
the  final  r  as  the  cockney  is  with  his  initial  h. 

Miss  Tucker  was  the  schoolmistress  at  the  new 
schoolhouse  in  West  Easton.  I  am  not  quite  sure, 
either,  that  I  have  the  name  of  the  place  right.  I 
think  it  may  have  been  East  Weston.  Weston  or 
Easton,  whichever  it  is,  is  a  country  township  east 
of  the  Hudson  River,  whose  chief  article  of  export  is 
dic-tnurs;  consequently  it  is  not  set  down  in  the 
gazetteer.  After  all,  it  doesn't  matter.  We'll  call  it 
East  Weston,  if  you  please. 

The  schoolhouse  was  near  a  brook— a  murmuring 
brook,  of  course.  Its  pleasant  murmur  could  not  be 
shut  out.  The  school  trustees  had  built  the  windows 
high,  so  that  the  children  might  not  be  diverted  from 


PERIWINKLE.  193 

their  lessons  by  any  sight  of  occasional  passers-by.  As 
though  children  could  study  better  in  a  prison  !  As 
though  you  could  shut  in  a  child's  mind,  traveling  in 
its  vagrant  fancies  like  Prospero's  Ariel  round  about 
the  earth  in  twenty  minutes !  The  dull  sound  of  a 
horse's  hoofs  would  come  in  now  and  then  from  the 
road,  and  the  children,  longing  for  some  new  sight, 
would  spend  the  next  half  hour  in  mental  debate 
whether  it  could  have  been  a  boy  astride  a  bag  of 
turnips,  for  instance,  or  the  doctor  in  his  gig,  that  had 
passed  under  the  windows. 

It  was  getting  late  in  the  afternoon.  Miss  Tucker 
had  dominated  her  little  flock  faithfully  all  day,  until 
even  she  grew  tired  of  monotonous  despotism.  Perhaps 
the  drowsy,  distant  sounds — the  cawing  of  crows  far 
away,  the  almost  inaudible  rattle  of  a  mowing  machine, 
and  the  unvarying  gurgle  of  the  brook  near  at  hand — 
had  softened  Miss  Tucker's  temper.  More  likely  it 
had  made  her  sleepy,  for  she  relaxed  her  watchfulness 
so  much  that  Rob  Riley  had  time  to  look  at  the  radi 
ant  face  of  Henrietta  full  two  minutes  without  a  re 
buke.  At  last  Miss  Tucker  actually  yawned  two  or 
three  times.  Then  she  brought  herself  up  with  a 
guilty  start.  Full  twenty  minutes  had  passed  in  which 
she,  Rebecca — or,  as  she  pronounced  it,  Rebekker — 
Tucker,  schoolmistress  and  intellectual  drum-major, 
had  scolded  nobody  and  had  scowled  at  nobody.  She 
determined  to  make  amends  at  once  for  this  remiss- 


DUJ-TKLS. 

ness.  Her  eye  lighted  on  Henrietta.  It  was  always 
safe  to  light  on  Henrietta.  Miss  Tucker  might  pun 
ish  her  at  any  time  on  general  principles  and  not  go 
far  astray,  especially  when  she  sat,  as  now,  bent  over 
her  slate. 

Henrietta  was  a  girl  past  sixteen,  somewhat  tall- 
ish,  and  a  little  awkward  ;  her  hair  was  light,  her  eyes 
blue,  and  her  face  not  yet  developed,  but  there  were 
the  crude  elements  of  a  possible  beauty  in  her  features. 
"When  her  temper  was  aroused,  and  she  gathered  up 
the  habitual  slovenly  expression  of  her  face  into  a  look 
of  vigor  and  concentrated  resolution,  she  was  "  splen 
did,"  in  the  vocabulary  of  her  schoolmates.  She  was 
one  of  those  country  girls  who  want  only  the  trim 
mings  to  make  a  tine  lady.  Rob  Riley,  for  his  part, 
did  not  miss  the  trimmings.  Fine  lady  she*  was  to 
him,  and  his  admiration  for  her  was  the  only  thing 
that  interfered  with  his  diligence.  For  Rob  had  ac 
tually  learned  a  good  deal  in  spite  of  the  educational 
influences  of  the  school.  In  fact,  he  had  long  since 
passed  out  of  the  possibility  of  Miss  Tucker's  helping 
him.  When  he  could  not  "do  a  sum"  and  referred 
it  to  her,  she  always  told  him  that  it  would  do  him 
much  more  good  to  get  it  himself.  Thus  put  upon 
his  mettle,  Rob  was  sure  to  come  out  of  the  struggle 
somehow  with  the  "answer"  in  his  teeth.  Miss 
Tucker  would  have  liked  Rob  if  Rob  had  not  loved 
Henrietta,  who  was  Miss  Tucker's  deadliest  foe. 


PERIWINKLE.  195 

"  Bring  me  that  slate  this  instant !  "  repeated  the 
schoolmistress  when  Henrietta  hesitated,  "and  don't 
you  rub  out  the  picture." 

Henrietta's  face  took  on  a  sullen  look ;  she  rose 
slowly,  dropping  the  slate  with  a  clatter  on  her  desk, 
whence  it  slid  with  a  bang  to  the  floor,  without  any 
effort  on  her  part  to  arrest  it.  Miss  Tucker  did 
not  observe — she  was  nearsighted — that  in  its  fall, 
and  in  Henrietta's  picking  it  up,  it  was  reversed,  so 
that  the  side  presented  to  the  schoolmistress  was  not 
the  side  on  which  the  girl  had  last  been  at  work.  All 
Miss  Tucker  saw  was  that  the  side  which  faced  her 
when  she  took  the  slate  from  Henrietta's  hand  con 
tained  a  picture  of  a  little  child.  It  was  a  chubby 
little  face,  with  a  funny-serious  expression.  The  exe 
cution  was  by  no  means  correct,  the  foreshortening  of 
the  little  bare  legs  was  not  well  done,  the  hands  were 
out  of  drawing,  and  the  whole  picture  had  the  stiff 
ness  that  comes  from  inexperience.  But  Miss  Tucker 
did  not  see  that.  All  she  saw  was  that  it  was  to  her 
eye  a  miraculously  good  picture. 

"  That's  the  way  you  get  your  arithmetic  lesson  ! 
You  haven't  done  a  sum  this  morning.  You  spend 
your  time  drawing  little  brats  like  that." 

"  She  isn't  a  brat." 

"  Who  isn't  a  brat  ?  " 

"  Periwinkle  isn't.     That's  Periwinkle." 

"  Who's  Periwinkle  ? " 


196  DUFFi-LS. 

"  She's  my  niece.  She's  Jane's  little  girl.  You 
sliaVt  call  her  a  brat,  neither." 

"  Don't  you  talk  to  me  that  way,  you  impudent 
tiling !  That's  the  way  you  spend  your  time,  drawing 
pictures." 

Miss  Tucker  here  held  the  slate  up  in  front  of  her 
and  stared  at  the  picture  of  Periwinkle.  Whereupon 
the  scholars  who  were  spectators  of  Miss  Tucker's  in 
dignation  smiled.  Some  of  them  grew  red  in  the 
face  and  looked  at  their  companions.  Little  Charity 
Jones  rattled  out  a  good,  hearty,  irrepressible  giggle, 
which  she  succeeded  in  arresting  only  by  stuffing  her 
apron  into  her  mouth. 

"  Charity  Jones,  what  are  you  laughing  at  ? " 

But  Charity  only  stuck  her  head  down  on  the 
desk  and  went  into  another  snicker. 

"  Come  here ! " 

Charity  was  sober  enough  now.  Miss  Tucker  got 
a  little  switch  out  of  her  desk  and  threatened  little 
Charity  with  "  a  good  sound  whipping  "  if  she  didn't 
tell  what  she  was  laughing  at. 

"  At  the  picture,"  whimpered  the  child. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  to  laugh  at,"  said  the  mis 
tress,  holding  the  slate  up  before  her. 

Whereupon  the  school  again  showed  signs  of  a 
sensation. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?"  and  Miss  Tucker 
instinctively  felt  of  her  back  hair. 


PERIWINKLE.  197 

"  It's  on  the  other  side  of  the  slate,"  burst  out 
Charity's  brother,  who  was  determined  to  deliver  his 
sister  out  of  the  den  of  lions. 

Miss  Tucker  turned  the  slate  over,  and  there  was 
Henrietta's  masterpiece.  It  was  a  stunning  caricature 
of  the  schoolmistress  in  the  act  of  yawning.  Of 
course,  when  that  high  and  mighty  authority  had,  in 
her  indignation  held  up  the  slate  so  as  to  get  a  good 
view  of  the  picture  of  Periwinkle,  she  was  uncon 
sciously  exhibiting  to  the  school  the  character  study 
on  the  reverse  of  the  slate.  And  now,  as  she  looked 
with  unutterable  wrath  and  consternation  at  the  dread 
ful  drawing,  the  scholars  were  full  of  suppressed  emo 
tion — half  of  it  terror,  and  the  other  half  a  served-her- 
right  feeling. 

"  The  school  is  dismissed.  Henriettar  Newton 
will  stay,"  said  the  schoolmistress.  The  children 
arose,  glad  to  escape,  while  Henrietta  felt  that  her 
friends  were  all  deserting  her,  and  she  was  left  alone 
with  a  wild  beast. 

"  Chaw  her  all  up,"  said  one  of  the  boys  to  another. 
"  I  wouldn't  be  in  there  with  her  for  a  good  deal." 

Rob  Riley  left  the  room  the  last  of  all,  and  he  lin 
gered  under  the  window.  But  what  could  he  do  ? 
After  a  while  he  hurried  away  to  Henrietta's  father, 
on  the  adjoining  farm,  and  made  a  statement  of  the 
case  to  him. 

"  I  sha'n't  interfere,"  said  the  old  man  sternly. 


198  DUFFELS. 

"  That  girl's  give  me  trouble  enough,  I'm  sure. 
Spends  her  time  makin'  fool  pictures  on  a  slate.  I 
hope  the  schoolmistress  '11  cure  her." 

Rob  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  this.  He  went 
back  across  the  field  to  the  schoolhouse  door  and  sat 
down  and  listened.  He  could  hear  an  angry  colloca 
tion.  He  thought  best  not  to  interfere  unless  the 
matter  came  to  blows. 

The  old  man  Newton  entered  his  house  soon  after 
Hob  Biley  left  him,  and  repeated  to  his  wife  what 
Rob  had  said  from  his  own  standpoint.  The  little 
grandchild,  Periwinkle,  sat  on  the  floor  with  that 
funny-serious  air  that  belonged  to  her  chubby  face. 

"  I'll  go  down  and  see  about  that,  I  will,"  she  said 
with  an  air  of  great  importance. 

"  What  ? "  said  the  old  man,  looking  tenderly  and 
fondly  at  Periwinkle. 

"I'll  see  about  that,  I  will,"  said  the  barefoot 
cherub,  as  she  pulled  on  her  sunbonnet  and  set  out 
for  the  schoolhouse,  pushing  resolutely  forward  on 
her  sturdy  little  legs. 

"  I  vum  !  "  said  the  old  man,  as  he  saw  her  disap 
pear  round  the  fence  corner. 

The  quaint  little  thing,  had  not  yet  been  in  the 
house  a  week.  She  was  sent  on  to  the  grandparents 
after  her  mother's  death,  and,  as  the  child  of  the 
daughter  who  had  left  them  years  ago  never  to  return, 
she  had  found  immediate  entrance  into  the  hearts  of 


PERIWINKLE.  199 

the  old  folks.  The  reprobate  Henrietta,  who  wasted 
her  time  drawing  pictures,  and  who  wras  generally  in 
a  state  of  siege  at  home  and  at  school,  had  found  in 
little  Periwinkle,  as  they  called  her,  a  fountain  of 
affection.  And  now  that  Henrietta  was  in  trouble, 
the  little  Illinois  Periwinkle  had  gone  off  in  her  self- 
reliant  fashion  to  see  about  it. 

When  she  reached  the  schoolhouse  she  found  Rob 
Riley,  whom  she  had  come  to  know  as  Henrietta's 
friend,  standing  listening. 

"  I've  come  down  to  see  about  that,  I  have,"  said 
Periwinkle,  nodding  her  head  toward  the  school- 
house.  Then  she  listened  a  while  to  the  angry  voice 
of  Miss  Tucker,  and  the  surly,  sobbing,  and  defiant 
replies  of  Henrietta,  who  was  saying,  "  Stand  back,  or 
I'll  hit  you  !  " 

"  Open  that  door  this  minute,  Wob  Wiley  !  I'm  a 
goin'  to  see  about  that." 

Rob  hesitated.  The  latch  was  clearly  out  of  Peri 
winkle's  reach.  Rob  had  a  faint  hope  that  the  little 
thing  might  divert  the  wrathful  teacher  from  her  prey. 
He  raised  the  latch  and  set  the  door  slightly  ajar. 

"  Now  push,"  he  said  to  Periwinkle. 

She  pushed  the  door  open  a  little  way  and  entered 
the  schoolroom  without  being  seen  by  the  angry  mis 
tress,  who  was  facing  the  other  wray,  having  driven 
Henrietta  into  a  corner.  Here  stood  the  defiant  girl 
at  bay,  waving  a  ruler,  which  she  had  snatched  from 


200  DUFFELS. 

the  irate  teacher,  and  warning  the  latter  to  let  her 
alone.  Periwinkle  walked  up  to  the  teacher,  pulled 
her  dress,  and  said  : 

"  I've  come  down  to  see  about  that,  I  have." 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  said  the  frightened  Miss  Tuck 
er,  to  whom  it  seemed  that  the  little  chub  had  dropped 
down  out  of  the  sky,  or  come  to  life  off  Henrietta's 
slate. 

"  Tin  Periwinkle,  and  you  mustn't  touch  my 
Henrietta.  Pve  come  down  to  see  about  it,  I 
have." 

Miss  Tucker,  in  a  sudden  reaction,  sank  down  on  a 
chair  exhausted  and  bewildered.  Then  she  sobbed  a 
little  in  despair. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  that  girl  ? "  she  muttered. 
"  Pm  beat  out." 

''Come  home,  Henrietta,"  said  Periwinkle,  and 
she  marched  Henrietta  out  the  door  under  the  very 
eyes  of  the  schoolmistress. 

"  Come  back  this  minute!  "  cried  Miss  Tucker,  ral 
lying  when  it  was  too  late.  But  the  weeping  Henri 
etta,  the  solemn  Periwinkle,  and  the  rejoicing  Rob 
Riley  went  away  and  answered  the  poor  woman  IK  \ «  r 
a  word. 

Miss  Tucker,  who  was  not  without  some  good 
sense  and  good  intentions,  found  out  that  evening  that 
she  did  not  like  teaching.  She  forthwith  resigned  the 
school  in  East  Weston.  In  a  week  or  two  a  new 


PERIWINKLE.  201 

teacher  was  engaged,  "  a  young  thing  from  town,"  as 
the  people  put  it,  "  who  never  could  manage  that  Hen 
rietta  Newton." 

But  sometimes  even  a  "  young  thing  "  is  gifted  with 
that  undefined  something  that  we  call  tact.  Sarah 
Reade  soon  found  out,  from  the  gratuitous  advice  lav 
ished  upon  her,  that  her  chief  trouble  would  be  from 
Henrietta ;  so  she  took  pains  to  get  acquainted  with 
the  unruly  girl  the  first  day.  Finding  that  ihe  center 
of  Henrietta's  heart  was  Periwinkle,  she  took  great 
interest  in  getting  the  girl  to  tell  her  all  about  Peri 
winkle.  Henrietta  was  so  much  softened  by  this 
treatment  that  for  three  whole  days  after  the  advent 
of  Miss  Reade  she  did  not  draw  a  picture  on  the  slate. 
But  the  self-denial  was  too  great.  On  the  fourth  day, 
while  Miss  Reade  was  hearing  recitation,  and  the  girls 
at  the  desk  behind  Henrietta  were  looking  over  at 
her,  she  drew  a  cow  very  elaborately. 

She  was  just  trying  to  make  the  horns  look  right, 
rubbing  them  out  and  retouching  them,  while  the 
other  girls  rose  up  in  their  seats  and  brought  their 
heads  together  in  a  cluster  to  see,  declaring  in  a 
whisper  that  "it  was  the  wonderfullest  thing  how 
Henrietta  could  draw,"  when  who  should  look  down 
among  them  but  Miss  Reade  herself.  As  soon  as 
Henrietta  became  conscious  of  Miss  Reade's  attention 
she  dropped  her  pencil,  not  with  the  old  defiant  feel 
ing,  but  with  a  melancholy  sense  of  having  lost  stand- 
14 


202  DUFFELa 

ing  with  one  whose  good  opinion  she  would  fain 
have  retained. 

The  teacher  took  the  slate  in  her  hand,  not  in 
Miss  Tucker's  energetic  fashion,  but  with  a  polite 
"Excuse  me,"  which  made  Henrietta's  heart  sink 
down  within  her.  For  half  a  minute  Miss  Reade 
scrutinized  the  drawing  without  saying  a  word. 

"Did  anybody  ever  give  you  any  drawing  les 
sons  ? "  she  said  to  the  detected  criminal. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  You  draw  well ;  you  ought  to  have  a  chance. 
You'll  make  an  artist  some  day.  Your  cow  is  not 
quite  right.  If  you'll  bring  the  picture  to  me  after 
school  I'll  show  you  some  things  about  it.  I  think 
you'd  better  put  it  away  now  till  you  get  your  geog 
raphy  lesson." 

Henrietta,  full  of  wonder  at  finding  her  art  no 
longer  regarded  as  a  sin,  put  the  slate  into  the  desk, 
and  cheerfully  resumed  the  study  of  the  boundaries 
and  chief  products  of  North  Carolina,  while  Miss 
Reade  returned  to  the  hearing  of  the  third-reader  class. 

"  I  say,  Henrietta,  she's  j-u-s-t  s-p-1-e-n-d-i-d ! " 
whispered  Maria  Thomas.  And  Rob  Riley  thought 
Miss  Reade  was  almost  as  fine  as  Henrietta  herself. 

"  You  see,"  said  Miss  Reade  to  Henrietta  after 
school,  "  that  the  hind  legs  of  your  cow  look  longer 
than  the  fore  legs." 

"  There's  something  wrong,"  said  the  girl,  "  but 


PERIWINKLE.  203 

that  isn't  it.  I've  measured,  and  the  cow's  just  as 
high  before  as  behind,  though  she  doesn't  look  so." 

"  Yes,  but  you've  put  her  head  a  little  toward 
you.  The  hind  legs  ought  to  seem  shorter  at  a  little 
distance  off.  Now  try  it.  Make  her  not  so  high 
from  the  ground  behind,"  and  Miss  Reade  proceeded 
to  explain  one  or  two  principles  of  perspective. 
When  Henrietta  had  experimented  on  her  cow  and 
saw  the  result,  she  was  delighted. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  drawing,"  said  Miss 
Reade,  "  but  I've  a  set  of  drawing  books  and  some 
drawing  cards.  Now,  if  you'll  let  drawing  alone  till 
you  get  your  lessons  each  day,  I'll  lend  you  my  draw 
ing  books  and  give  you  all  the  help  I  can." 

When  the  old  man  Newton  heard  that  the  "  new 
school  ma'am "  was  permitting  Henrietta  to  draw 
"  fool  picters  on  her  slate,"  he  was  sure  that  it  never 
would  work.  He  believed  in  breaking  a  child's  will, 
for  his  part,  "  though  the  one  that  broke  Henriettar's 
will  would  hev  to  git  up  purty  airly  in  the  mornin' 
now,  certain,"  he  added  with  a  grim  smile.  But  when 
the  old  man  found  Henrietta  unexpectedly  indus 
trious,  toiling  over  her  studies  at  night,  he  was  sur 
prised  beyond  measure ;  and  when  he  understood  the 
compact  by  which  studies  were  to  come  first  and 
drawing  afterward,  he  winked  his  eye  knowingly  at 
his  wife. 

"Who'd  a  thought  that  little   red-headed  school 


204:  DUFFELS. 

ma'am  would  a  ben  so  cute  ?  She  knows  the  very  bait 
fer  Henrietta!'  now.  That  woman  would  do  to  trade 
bosses." 

But  when  the  little  schoolmistress  seriously  pro 
posed  that  he  should  send  Henrietta  down  to  New 
York  to  take  lessons  in  drawing,  he  quickly  changed 
his  mind.  Of  what  kind  of  use  was  drawing?  And 
then,  it  would  cost,  according  to  Miss  Reade's  own  ac 
count,  about  two  or  three  hundred  dollars  a  year  for 
board  ;  all  to  learn  a  lot  of  nonsense.  It  is  true,  when 
the  teacher  craftily  told  him  stories  of  the  prices  that 
some  lucky  artists  received  for  their  work,  he  felt  as 
though  she  were  pointing  down  into  a  gold  mine. 
But  the  money  in  his  hand  was  good  money,  and  he 
never  sent  good  money  after  bad.  And  so  Henrietta's 
newly  raised  hope  of  being  an  artist  was  dashed,  and 
Rob  Riley  was  grievously  disappointed ;  for  he  was 
sure  that  Henrietta  would  astonish  the  metropolis  if 
once  she  could  take  her  transcendent  ability  out  of 
East  Weston  into  New  York.  Besides,  Rob  Riley 
himself  was  going  off  to  New  York  to  develop  his 
own  talent  by  learning  the  granite  cutter's  trade. 
He  confided  to  Henrietta  that  he  expected  to  come  to 
something  better  than  granite  cutting,  for  lie  had 
heard  that  there  had  been  granite  cutters  who,  being, 
like  himself,  good  at  figures,  in  time  had  come  to  be 
great  contractors  and  builders  and  bosses.  He  was 
going  to  be  something,  and  when  he  was  settled  at 


PERIWINKLE.  205 

work  ill  New  York  Henrietta  had  a  letter  from  him 
telling  that  he  was  learning  mechanical  drawing  in  the 
Cooper  Union  night  school,  and  that  he  got  books 
out  of  the  Apprentices'  Library.  He  also  attended 
free  lectures,  and  was  looking  out  for  a  chance  to  be 
something  some  day.  Henrietta  carried  the  letter 
about  with  her,  and  wished  heartily  that  she  also 
might  go  to  New  York,  where  she  could  improve  her 
self  and  see  Rob  Riley  occasionally. 

Now  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Newton  had  a  cousin, 
a  rich  man,  in  New  York — at  least,  he  seemed  rich  to 
those  not  used  to  the  measure  applied  to  wealth  in  a 
great  city.  She  had  not  seen  him  since  he  left  the 
little  town  in  western  Massachusetts,  where  they  were 
both  brought  up.  But  she  often  talked  about  Cousin 
John.  Whenever  she  saw  his  business  advertisements 
in  the  papers  she  started  out  afresh  in  her  talk  about 
Cousin  John.  It  is  something  quite  worth  the  having 
— a  cousin  in  New  York  whose  name  is  in  the  papers, 
and  who  is  rich.  Whenever  Mrs.  Jones,  Mrs.  New 
ton's  neighbor,  talked  too  ostentatiously  about  her 
uncle,  who  was  both  a  deacon  and  a  justice  of  the 
peace  up  in  New  Hampshire,  then  Mrs.  Newton  said 
something  about  Cousin  John.  To  save  her  life  she 
couldn't  imagine  how  Cousin  John  lived,  except  that 
he  kept  a  carriage  or  two,  or  in  what  precisely  his 
greatness  consisted,  since  he  held  no  office  either  in 
church  or  State,  but  the  old  lady  evidently  believed  in 


206  DUFFELS. 


heart  that  a  cousin  who  was  a  big  man  down  in 
New  York  was  nearly  as  good  as  an  uncle  who  was  a 
deacon  up  in  NY\v  Hampshire. 

Now  it  happened  that  John  AVillard,  the  Cousin 
John  of  Mrs.  Newton's  gossip,  was  spending  the  sum 
mer  at  Lebanon  Springs,  and  at  the  close  of  his  vaca 
tion  he  started  to  drive  home  through  the  beautiful 
region  once  the  scene  of  the  anti-renters'  conflict  with 
the  old  patroons.  He  stopped  to  see  the  Shaker  vil 
lages,  and  then  drove  on  among  the  rich  farms,  taking 
great  pleasure  in  explaining  to  his  town-bred  wife  the 
difference  between  wheat  and  rye  as  it  stood  in  the 
shock,  feeling  for  once  the  superiority  of  one  whose 
early  life  has  been  passed  in  the  country.  He  hap 
pened  to  remember  that  he  had  a  cousin  over  in 
Weston,  and  though  he  had  not  seen  her  for  many 
years,  lie  proposed  to  turn  aside  and  eat  one  dinner 
with  old  Farmer  Newton  and  his  wife. 

And  thus  it  happened  that  Cousin  John  Willard, 
and  especially  that  Mrs.  Cousin  John  Willard,  saw 
Henrietta's  drawings,  and  heard  of  her  aspiration  to 
learn  to  draw  and  paint  ;  and  thus  it  happened  that 
Cousin  John,  and,  what  is  of  more  consequence,  Mrs. 
Cousin  John,  invited  the  girl  to  come  down  to  New 
York  and  spend  the  winter  with  them  and  develop 
her  talent  for  drawing  ;  though  Mrs.  Willard  did  not 
tli  ink  RO  much  of  Henrietta's  developing  her  gift  for 
art  as  that  she  had  a  fine  face,  and  would  undoubt- 


PERIWINKLE.  207 

edly  develop  into  a  beauty  under  city  influences. 
And  as  Mrs.  Willard  had  no  children,  and  her  house 
was  lonesome,  she  thought  it  might  add  to  her  own 
consequence  and  to  the  cheerfulness  of  her  house  to 
have  a  handsome  cousin  under  her  care.  Henrietta's 
father  was  rather  unwilling  to  let  her  go ;  he  didn't 
see  how  she  could  be  spared  from  the  housework ; 
but  the  mother  was  resolved  that  she  should  go,  and 
go  she  did. 

The  first  things  that  excited  the  country  girl's  won 
der  were  not  the  streets  and  buildings  and  the  works 
of  art,  but  the  unwonted  luxury  of  city  life.  Velvet 
carpets,  large  panes  of  plate  glass,  hot  and  cold  water 
that  came  for  the  turning  of  a  stopcock,  illumination 
that  burst  forth  as  by  magic,  mirrors  that  showed  the 
whole  person  and  reduplicated  the  room — even  door 
bells  and  sliding  doors,  and  dumb  waiters  and  speaking- 
tubes,  were  things  that  filled  her  with  astonishment. 
For  weeks  she  felt  that  she  had  moved  out  of  the 
world  into  a  fairy  book.  But,  being  a  high-spirited 
girl,  she  carefully  concealed  her  wonder,  moving  about 
with  apparent  nonchalance,  as  though  she  had  lived  in 
the  enchanted  ground  all  her  life.  Secretly  she  car 
ried  on  experiments  upon  water  works,  gas  fixtures, 
and  plate-glass  mirrors,  using  the  inductive  method  of 
reasoning,  as  all  intelligent  people  have  from  the  be 
ginning,  without  any  of  the  cumbrous  and  pedantic  ma 
chinery  provided  for  them  by  Lord  Chancellor  Bacon. 


208  DUFFELS. 

She  was  soon  at  work,  but  drawing  from  uninter 
esting  plaster  casts  of  scroll-work  in  the  lower  classes 
of  the  School  of  Design  for  AVonun  was  not  so 
pleasant  as  spontaneous  picture-making  on  her  slate 
had  been.  In  AVeston,  too,  she  had  been  a  prodigy ; 
her  gift  for  drawing  was  little  less  than  miraculous 
in  the  eyes  of  her  companions.  But  in  Cooper  Insti 
tute  she  was  one  of  many,  and  there  were  those  whom 
much  practice  had  rendered  more  skillful.  She  would 
slip  away  from  her  work  and  go  through  the  alcoves 
sometimes,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  to  envy  the  girls 
who  were  in  their  second  year,  and  were  drawing  from 
a  bust  of  Psyche  or  The  Young  Augustus,  and 
especially  did  she  wish  that  she  were  one  of  the  fa 
vored  circle  in  the  Yenus  Room.  She  thought  it 
would  be  fine  to  try  the  statue  of  the  Yenus  de  Milo. 
But  day  in  and  day  out  she  had  to  stand  before  a 
cast  of  a  meaningless  scroll,  endeavoring  to  represent 
it  on  drawing  paper.  This  was  no  longer  play,  but 
work  as  tedious  as  the  geography  lessons  in  Weston. 
There  is  a  great  difference  between  work  and  play, 
though  they  both  may  consist  in  doing  the  same  thing. 
Nevertheless  Henrietta  had  positive  ability,  and  the 
almost  mechanical  training  of  the  first  months  did  her 
good. 

But  somehow  she  was  not  so  glad  to  see  Rob  Riley, 
the  granite  cutter,  as  she  had  expected  to  IK*.  AVlu-n 
K«»b  called  at  first  to  see  her,  the  maid,  wlm  had  re- 


PERIWINKLE.  209 

ceived  many  warnings  against  allowing  sneak  thieves 
and  tramps  to  stand  in  the  hall,  did  not  dare  leave  him 
by  the  hatrack.  She  eyed  him  suspiciously,  cross- 
questioned  him  sharply,  and  finally  called  the  cook  up 
stairs  to  stand  guard  over  him  and  the  overcoats  while 
she  went  to  call  Henrietta.  Poor  Rob,  already  fright 
ened  at  having  to  ring  the  door-bell  of  a  brown-stone 
house,  stood  in  the  hall  fumbling  his  hat,  while  the 
stalwart  cook  never  once  took  her  eyes  off  him,  but 
stood  ready  to  throttle  him  if  he  made  a  motion  to 
seize  a  coat  or  to  open  the  door  behind  him.  Some 
how  the  greeting  between  the  two  under  these  cir 
cumstances  was  as  different  as  possible  from  their 
parting  in  the  country.  Henrietta  felt  that  by  receiv 
ing  Rob  Riley  in  his  Sunday  clothes  she  had  forever 
compromised  herself  with  Hibernia  downstairs ;  and 
poor  Rob,  half  chilled  by  Henrietta's  reception,  and 
wholly  dampened  by  the  rosewood  furniture  and  the 
lace  curtains,  and  the  necessity  for  sitting  down  on 
damask  upholstery,  was  very  ill  at  ease.  Henrietta 
longed  to  speak  freely,  as  she  had  done  in  the  old  days 
when  they  strolled  through  the  hill  pasture  together, 
but  then  she  trembled  lest  the  door-bell  should  ring 
and  some  of  Mrs.  Cousin  John's  fine  visitors  enter  the 
reception  room.  So  the  meeting  was  a  failure.  Rob 
even  forgot  that  he  had  meant  to  ask  Henrietta  to  go 
with  him  to  the  free  lecture  the  next  evening.  And 
he  was  glad  when  he  got  out,  and  Henrietta  was  re- 


210  DUFFELS. 

lieved,  though  she  cried  with  vexation  and  disappoint 
ment  when  lie  was  gone.  As  for  Kob,  he  went  home 
in  great  doubt  whether  it  was  worth  while  trying  to 
be  something.  Of  what  use  was  it  to  seek  to  get  to 
be  a  boss,  a  builder,  or  the  owner  of  a  quarry  ?  Things 
were  all  wrong  anyhow. 

After  this  he  only  met  Henrietta  now  and  then 
as  she  came  in  or  went  out,  though  this  was  not  easy, 
for  he  had  to  work  with  the  hammer  all  day,  and 
his  evenings  were  spent  in  mechanical  drawing.  On 
second  thought,  he  would  be  something,  if  only  just 
to  show  folks  that  looked  down  on  him.  Though,  if 
he  had  only  known  it,  Henrietta  did  not  look  down 
on  him  at  all ;  all  her  contempt  was  expended  on 
herself. 

But  this  feeling  wore  away  as  she  became  natu 
ralized  in  Mrs.  Cousin  John's  world.  There  were 
little  dance  parties,  and  though  Henrietta  was  obliged 
to  dress  plainly,  she  grew  more  to  be  a  beautiful 
woman.  The  simplicity  of  her  dress  set  off  this  line 
loveliness,  and  Henrietta  Newton  was  artist  enough 
to  understand  this,  so  that  her  clothes  did  not  make 
her  abashed  in  company.  She  had  no  party  dresses, 
but  with  Mrs.  Willard's  assistance  she  always  looked 
the  beautiful  country  cousin.  Other  girls  remarked 
upon  the  monotony  of  her  dress,  but  then  the  gen 
tlemen  did  not  care  that  one  woolen  gown  did  duty 
on  many  occasions.  Some  women  can  stand  the  or- 


PERIWINKLE.  211 

deal  of  a  uniform  for  church  and  theater,  party  and 
tete-d-tete. 

Mrs.  Willard  meant  well  by  Henrietta.  If  Hen 
rietta's  art  got  on  slowly,  and  her  chance  for  a  prize 
decreased  steadily  under  the  dissipating  influences 
about  her,  it  was  not  that  Mrs.  Willard  intended  to 
do  her  harm  by  parading  her  pretty  cousin  on  Sun 
days  and  week  days.  It  was  only  a  second  growth 
of  vanity  in  Cousin  John's  wife.  When  one  is  no 
longer  sought  after  for  one's  own  sake,  the  next  best 
thing  is  to  be  sought  after  for  somebody  else's  sake. 
Mrs.  Willard  shone  now  in  a  reflected  glory,  as  the 
keeper  of  the  pretty  Miss  Newton.  Young  gentle 
men  stood  squarely  in  front  of  Mrs.  Willard  and  made 
full  bows  to  her,  and  were  delighted  when  she  asked 
them  to  call.  Mrs.  Willard  also  carried  it  up  to  her 
own  credit,  in  her  confidential  talks  with  ladies  of  her 
own  age,  that  she  was  doing  so  much  for  John's  cousin, 
whom  she  had  found  buried  in  an  old  farmhouse. 
For  Mrs.  Willard  was  a  Christian  and  a  philanthro 
pist,  besides  being  a  reformer. 

She  was  endeavoring  with  all  her  heart  to  reform 
a  younger  brother  of  her  own,  who  was  enough  to 
have  filled  the  hands  of  three  or  four  red,  white,  and 
blue  ribbon  associations.  He  was  a  fine  subject  to 
work  on,  this  young  Harrison  Lowder.  Few  young 
men  have  been  so  much  reformed.  He  had  a  bright 

o 

wit  and  genial  manners,  but  moral  endowments  had 


212  DUFFELS. 

been  accidentally  omittol  in  his  makeup.  Nothing 
tiiat  was  pleasant  could  seein  wrong  to  him.  He 
was  a  magnificent  sinner,  with  an  artistic  lightness  of 
touch  in  wrongdoing,  and  he  took  his  evil  courses 
with  Mich  unfailing  good  nature  that  people  forgave 
him. 

It  was  a  happy  thought  of  Mrs.  Willard's,  when 
she  saw  him  becoming  fascinated  with  Henrietta,  to 
reform  him  and  render  Henrietta  a  service  at  the 
same  time.  For  Lowder  had  money,  and  to  a  poor 
country  girl  such  a  marriage  ought  to  be  a  heaven- 
send,  while  it  would  serve  to  reform  Harry,  no  doubt. 
It  isn't  always  that  a  matchmaker  can  be  sure  of  being 
a  benefactor  to  both  sides.  One  of  the  most  remark 
able  things  in  nature,  however,  is  the  willingness  of 
women  to  lay  a  girl's  life  on  the  altar  for  the  chance 
of  saving  the  morals  of  a  scapegrace  man.  If  a  pious 
mother  can  only  marry  her  son  Beelzebub  to  some 
"  good,  religious  girl,"  the  chance  of  his  reformation  is 
greatly  increased.  The  girl  is  neither  here  nor  there 
when  one  considers  the  necessity  for  saving  the  dear 
Beelzebub. 

Harry  Lowder  had  the  advantage  of  all  other 
comers  with  Henrietta.  The  keeper  was  on  his  H<]C, 
in  the  first  place ;  and  he  was  half  domesticated  at  the 
h«»use,  coming  and  going  when  he  pleased.  The  city 
dazzled  the  country  girl,  and  it  was  a  great  pleasure  to 
him  to  take  her  to  theaters  and  operas.  His  winning 


PERIWINKLE.  213 

manners,  his  apparent  frankness,  and  the  round  of 
amusements  he  kept  her  in,  could  not  but  have  their 
effect  on  a  strong-willed  creature  such  as  she  was. 
Her  pent-up  intensity  of  life  burst  out  now  into  the 
keenest  enjoyment  of  all  that  she  saw  and  heard  and 
felt  for  the  first  time. 

There  were  times  when  the  memory  of  her  coun 
try  home  and  little  Periwinkle  came  into  her  mind 
like  a  fresh  breeze  from  the  hills.  At  such  times  she 
recoiled  from  the  round  of  unhealthful  excitement  in 
which  she  found  herself ;  she  hated  the  high- wrought 
plays  and  burlesque  operas  that  she  had  seen  ;  she  de 
spised  the  exciting  novels  that  Harry  Lowder  had  lent 
her.  Then  the  old  farm,  with  its  stern  and  quiet  ways, 
seemed  a  sort  of  paradise  ;  she  longed  for  her  mother's 
voice,  and  even  for  her  father's  rebuke,  for  Rob  Riley's 
homely  love-making,  and  Periwinkle's  quaint  ways. 
At  such  times  she  had  a  sense  of  standing  in  some  im 
minent  peril,  a  dark  foreboding  shadowed  her,  and  she 
wished  that  she  had  never  come  to  New  York,  for  the 
drawing  did  not  get  on  well.  Harry  Lowder  said  it 
didn't  matter  about  the  drawing ;  she  was  meant  for 
something  better.  There  was  always  an  easy  way  out 
of  such  depressions.  Harry  told  her  that  she  had  the 
blues,  and  that  if  she  would  go  to  see  this  or  that  the 
blues  would  disappear.  There  is  an  easy  way  of  get 
ting  rid  of  the  blues  by  pawning  to-morrow  to  pay  to 
day's  debts. 


214:  DUFFELS. 

It  would  hardly  l>e  right  to  say  that  Lowdcr  was 
in  love  with  Henrietta  Newton,  for  in  our  good  Eng- 
li.-h  tongue  there  is  usually  a  moral  element  to  the 
word  love.  But  Harry  certainly  was  fascinated  with 
Henrietta — more  fascinated  than  he  had  ever  been 
with  any  one  else.  And  as  he  had  become  convinced 
that  it  was  best  for  him  to  marry  and  to  reform — 
just  a  little — he  thought  that  Henrietta  Newton  would 
be  the  girl  to  marry. 

So  it  happened  that  Periwinkle,  who  had  waited 
for  Christmas  to  come  that  she  might  see  Henrietta 
again,  was  bitterly  disappointed.  At  Christmas  Hen 
rietta  had  been  promised  two  great  treats — Fox  in 
Humpty  Dumpty  and  the  sight  of  St.  Dives's  Church 
in  its  decorations,  with  the  best  music  in  the  city. 
And  then  there  were  to  be  other  things  quite  as  won 
derful  to  the  country  girl.  In  truth,  Henrietta  was 
afraid  to  go  home.  Somewhere  in  the  associations  of 
home  there  lay  in  wait  for  her  a  revengeful  con 
science  which  she  feared  to  meet.  Then,  too,  Hob 
Riley  would  be  at  home,  and  a  meeting  with  him  must 
produce  shame  in  her,  and  bring  on  a  decision  that 
she  would  rather  postpone.  Mrs.  AVillurd  bi'ir^rd  her 
to  stay,  and  it  was  hard  to  resist  her  benefactress. 
But  in  her  girl's  heart  at  times  she  was  tired  and 
homesick,  and  the  staying  in  the  city  cost  her  two  or 
three  good  crying  spells.  And  when  the  holidays  w«  i c 
past  she  bitterly  repented  that  she  had  nut  gone  home. 


PERIWINKLE.  215 

In  this  mood  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  long  letter 
to  her  mother,  full  of  regrets  and  homesickness,  and 
longing  and  contradictoriness.  She  liked  the  city  and 
she  didn't.  She  hadn't  done  very  well  in  her  draw 
ing,  as  she  confessed,  but  she  meant  to  do  better.  It 
was  a  letter  that  gave  the  good  old  mother  much  un 
easiness.  This  city  world  was  something  that  she  could 
not  understand — a  great  sea  for  the  navigation  of 
which  she  had  no  chart.  She  got  from  Henrietta's 
letter  a  vague  sense  of  danger,  a  danger  terrible  be 
cause  entirely  incomprehensible  to  her. 

And,  indeed,  she  had  already  become  uneasy,  for 
when  Rob  Riley  came  home  at  Christmas  time  he  did 
not  come  to  see  them,  nor  did  he  bring  any  messages 
from  Henrietta.  When  she  asked  him  about  the  girl, 
at  meeting  time  on  Sunday,  Rob  hung  his  head  and 
looked  at  the  toe  of  his  boot  a  minute,  and  then  said 
that  he  "  hadn't  laid  eyes  on  her  for  six  weeks." 
"What  did  it  all  mean  ?  Had  Henrietta  got  into  some 
disgrace  ?  The  father  was  alarmed  also.  He  thought 
it  about  time  that  she  should  be  getting  a  thousand 
dollars  for  a  picture  ;  though,  for  his  part,  he  couldn't 
see  why  anybody  should  pay  for  a  picture  enough 
money  to  build  two  or  three  barns. 

The  little  Periwinkle  heard  all  of  these  discussions, 
though  nobody  thought  of  her  understanding  them. 

"  I'm  going  down  there,"  she  said.  "  I'm  going 
to  see  about  that,  I  am." 


216  DUFFELS. 

"  What  ?"  said  the  grandfather,  looking  at  the  lit 
tle  thing  fondly. 

"  About  Henrietta.  I'm  a-goin'  down  with  \Yob 
Wiley." 

"  Hello  !  you  air,  air  you  ? " 

Now  it  happened  that  in  her  fit  of  repentance  and 
homesickness  Henrietta  had  written:  "I  wish  you 
would  send  dear  little  Periwinkle  down  here  some 
time.  I  do  want  to  see  her,  and  she  would  he  such 
a  good  model  to  draw  from."  Henrietta  had  not 
thought  of  the  practical  difficulties  of  getting  the 
chubby  little  thing  down,  nor  of  how  she  would  keep 
her  if  she  came,  nor,  indeed,  of  the  possibility  of  her 
words  being  understood  in  their  literal  sense.  It  was 
only  a  cry  of  longing. 

But  now  the  mother,  full  of  apprehension  and  at 
her  wits'  end  what  to  do,  looked  with  a  sort  of  super 
stitious  respect  at  the  self-confident  little  creature 
who  proposed  to  go  down  to  the  city  and  see  about 
things. 

The  old  lady  at  first  proposed  to  go  down  her 
self  and  take  little  Periwinkle  with  her ;  but  she  felt 
timid  about  the  great  city,  and  about  Cousin  John's 
fine  ways  of  living.  She  wouldn't  be  able  to  find  her 
way  around,  and  she  felt  "  scarr't "  when  she  thought 
about  it.  Besides,  who'd  get  father's  breakfast  for 
him  if  fche  went  away  ? 

So  she  decided   to   send    Peri  winkle  down.     Hob 


PERIWINKLE.  217 

Riley  could  take  her,  and  Cousin  John's  wife  had 
always  liked  her  and  she'd  be  glad  to  see  her.  She 
hadn't  any  children  of  her  own,  and  might  be  real 
glad  to  have  the  merry  little  thing  about ;  and  as  for 
sending  her  back,  there  was  always  somebody  coming 
up  from  the  city.  Of  course  Grandma  Newton  didn't 
think  how  large  the  village  of  JSTew  York  had  grown 
to  be,  and  how  unlikely  it  was  that  Henrietta  should 
find  any  one  going  to  Weston. 

The  greatest  difficulty  was  to  persuade  Rob  Riley 
to  take  her.  His  pride  was  wounded,  and  he  didn't 
want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  Henrietta  and  her 
fine  folks.  But  the  old  lady  persisted,  and,  above  all, 
little  Periwinkle  informed  Rob  that  she  was  going 
down  to  see  about  Henrietta.  This  touched  Rob ;  he 
remembered  when  she  had  snatched  Henrietta  out  of 
the  jaws  of  Miss  Tucker.  He  consented  to  take  her 
to  Mr.  Willard's  house  and  ring  the  door-bell. 

Henrietta  had  recovered  from  her  attack  of  peni 
tence,  and  was  again  floating  on  the  eddying  current 
of  excitement.  One  evening  she  went  with  Lowder 
to  see  La  Dame  aux  Camelias.  She  had  never  before 
seen  "  an  emotional  play  "  of  the  French  school,  and  it 
affected  her  deeply.  Harry  took  advantage  of  her 
softened  feelings  to  envelop  her  in  a  cloud  of  flat 
tery,  and  to  make  love  to  her.  Something  of  the 
better  sense  of  the  girl  had  heretofore  held  her  back 
from  any  committal  of  her  trust  to  him  ;  but  when 

15 


218  DUFFELS. 

they  reai-hrd  Mrs.  Willard's  parlor,  Harry  laid  direct 
siege  to  Henrietta's  affection,  telling  her  what  moral 
miracles  her  influence  had  wrought  in  him,  and  how 
nothing  but  her  love  was  needed  to  keep  him  stead 
fast  in  the  future ;  and,  in  truth,  he  more  than  half 
believed  what  he  said.  The  whole  scene  was  quite  in 
the  key  of  the  play,  and  her  overwrought  feelings 
drifted  toward  the  man  pleading  thus  earnestly  for 
affection.  Harry  saw  the  advantage  of  the  situation, 
and  urged  on  her  an  immediate  decision.  Henrietta, 
still  shaken  by  passionate  excitement,  and  without 
rest  in  herself,  was  on  the  point  of  promising  eternal 
affection,  in  the  manner  of  the  heroine  of  the  play, 
when  there  came  a  loud  ringing  of  the  door-bell.  So 
highly  strained  were  the  girl's  nerves,  that  she  uttered 
a  sharp  cry  at  this  unexpected  midnight  alarm.  The 
servants  had  gone  to  bed  when  Henrietta  came  in. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  open  the  door  her 
self.  With  Harry  Lowder  behind  her  for  a  reserve, 
she  timidly  opened  the  front  door,  to  find  a  child, 
muffled  in  an  old-fashioned  cloak  and  hood,  standing 
upon  the  stoop,  while  a  man  was  descending  the  steps. 
Looking  around  just  enough  to  see  who  came  to  the 
door,  he  said,  "  Your  mother  said  you  wanted  her, 
and  she  would  have  me  bring  her  to  you." 

Then,  without  a  word  of  good-night,  Rob  Riley 
walked  away,  Henrietta  recognizing  the  voice  with  a 
pang. 


PERIWINKLE.  219 

"  I  come  down  to  see  about  you,"  spoke  the  sol 
emn  and  quizzical  figure  on  the  stoop. 

"  Where  on  earth  did  that  droll  creature  come 
from  ?  "  broke  out  Lowder.  "  What  is  the  matter, 
Miss  Newton  ? " 

For  the  suddenness  of  the  apparition,  the  rude  air 
with  which  Rob  Riley  had  turned  his  back  upon  her, 
had  started  a  new  set  of  emotions  in  the  mind  of 
Henrietta.  A  wind  from  the  old  farm  had  blown 
suddenly  over  her  and  swept  away  the  fog.  She  felt 
now,  with  that  intuitive  quickness  that  belongs  to  the 
artistic  temperament,  that  she  had  recoiled  but  just  in 
time  from  a  brink.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  likely 
to  faint,  though  she  was  not  the  kind  of  woman  to 
faint  when  startled. 

She  reached  out  her  hand  to  Periwinkle,  and  then, 
with  a  reaction  of  feeling,  folded  her  in  her  arms  and 
wept.  Harry  was  puzzled.  She  suddenly  became 
stiff  and  almost  repellent  toward  him.  She  seemed 
impatient  for  him  to  be  gone.  It  was  a  curious  effect 
of  surprise  upon  her  nerves,  he  thought.  He  mentally 
confounded  his  luck,  and  said  good  night. 

Henrietta  bore  Periwinkle  off  to  her  own  room 
and  removed  her  cloak,  crying  a  little  all  the  time. 
She  was  quite  too  full  of  emotion  to  take  into  account 
as  yet  all  the  perplexities  in  which  she  would  be  in 
volved  by  the  presence  of  Periwinkle  in  the  house  of 
Cousin  John  Willard. 


220  DUFFELS. 

u  \Vliat  brought  you  down  here?"  she  said  at 
la>t.  \\  hen  tlie  sturdy  little  girl,  divested  of  her  shawl 
and  cloak  and  mittens  and  hood,  sat  upon  a  chair  in 
front  of  Henrietta,  who  sat  upon' the  floor  looking 
at  her. 

"  I  come  down  to  see  about  you.  Gran'ma  said 
some  things,  and  gran'pa  said  some  things,  and  AVoh 
Wiley  he  looked  bad,  and  I  thought  maybe  I'd  just 
come  down  and  see  about  you  ;  and  gran'ma  said  you 
wanted  to  make  a  picture  of  me.  You  don't  want  to 
make  a  picture  to-night,  do  you?  'cause  I'm  awful 
sleepy.  You  see,  AVob  had  to  come  on  the  seven 
o'clock  twain,  and  that  gits  in  at  'leven  ;  and  it  took 
us  till  midnight  to  git  here,  and  AVob  he's  got  to  go 
ever  so  fur  yet.  What  made  'em  build  such  a  big 
town  ? "  Here  Periwinkle  yawned  and  seemed  about 
to  fall  off  the  chair.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  lying 
fast  asleep  on  Henrietta's  pillow. 

But  Henrietta  slept  not.  It  was  a  night  of  stormy 
trial.  By  turns  one  mood  and  then  another  domi 
nated.  At  times  she  resolved  to  be  a  lady,  admired 
and  courted  in  the  luxury  of  the  city.  As  for  possi 
ble  consequences,  she  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of 
counting  the  cost  of  her  actions  carefully.  There  is 
a  delicious  excitement  to  a  nature  like  hers  in  defying 
consequences. 

lint   then   a   sight    of  Periwinkle's   sleeping   inno- 

06   M-nt    hack   the  tide   with  a  rush.      How   much 


PERIWINKLE.  221 

better  were  the  simple  old  home  ways  and  the  love  of 
this  little  heart,  and  the  faithful  devotion  of  that  most 
kindly  Rob  Riley  !  She  remembered  her  walks  with 
him,  her  teasing  him,  his  interference  against  Miss 
Tucker,  and  the  deliverance  wrought  by  the  little 
creature  lying  there.  She  would  go  back  to  her  old 
self,  how  painful  soever  it  might  be. 

But  she  couldn't  stay  in  the  city  and  turn  away 
Harrison  Lowder ;  and  to  go  home  was  to  confess 
that  she  had  failed  in  her  art.  And  how  could  she 
humble  herself  to  seem  to  wish  to  regain  Rob  Riley's 
love  ?  And  then,  what  kind  of  an  outlook  did  the  life 
of  a  granite-cutter's  wife  afford  her  ?  Here  she  looked 
at  herself  in  the  glass.  All  her  pride  rebelled  against 
going  home.  But  all  her  pride  sank  down  when  she 
stooped  to  kiss  the  cheek  of  the  sleeping  child. 

In  this  alternation  of  feeling  she  passed  the  night. 
"When  breakfast  time  came  she  took  Periwinkle  down, 
making  such  explanations  as  she  could  with  much  em 
barrassment. 

"  You're  sick,  Henrietta,"  said  Cousin  John. 
"  You  don't  eat  anything.  You've  been  working 
too  steadily." 

After  breakfast  the  family  doctor  called,  and  said 
that  Henrietta  was  suffering  from  too  close  applica 
tion  to  her  art,  and  from  steam  heat  in  the  alcoves. 
She  must  have  rest. 

The   poor,  tired,  perplexed   girl,  badgered  with 


DUFFELS. 

conflicting  emotions,  but  resolved  at  last  to  escape 
from  temptations  that  she  could  not  resist  effectually, 
received  this  verdict  eagerly.  She  would  go  home  ; 
and  the  doctor  agreed  that  change  of  scene  was  what 
she  wanted.  Her  life  in  town  was  too  dull. 

Harry  Lowder  called  that  evening,  but  Henrietta 
had  taken  the  precaution  to  be  sick  abed.  At  eight 
o'clock  the  next  morning  she  was  on  the  Harlem 
train. 

"  You  see,  I  brought  her  home,"  said  Periwinkle 
to  her  grandmother,  in  confidence.  "  I  didn't  like 
Cousin  John's  folks.  They  wasn't  glad  to  see  me  ; 
and  I  didn't  like  to  leave  Henrietta  there." 

But  Henrietta,  who  had  blossomed  out  into  some 
thing  quite  different  from  the  Henrietta  of  other 
times,  made  no  explanation  except  that  she  was  sick. 
For  a  week  she  took  little  interest  in  anything,  ate 
but  little,  and  went  about  in  a  dazed  way,  resuming 
her  old  cares  as  though  she  had  never  given  them  up. 
Somehow  she  seemed  a  fine  lady  in  the  dignity  of 
manner  and  the  self-possession  that  she  had  taken 
on  with  characteristic  quickness  of  appivhi'iiMun  and 
imitation,  and  Mrs.  Newton  felt  as  if  the  housework 
were  unsuited  to  her.  Even  her  father  looked  at 
her  with  a  sort  of  respect,  and  forbore  to  chide  her 
as  had  been  his  wont. 

But  when  a  week  had  passed  she  suddenly  got  out 
her  material  and  began  to  draw.  Periwinkle  was  set 


PERIWINKLE.  223 

up  first  for  a  model,  then  her  father  and  her  mother, 
and  then  the  dog,  as  he  lay  sleeping  before  the  fire,  had 
his  portrait  taken,  to  Periwinkle's  delight.  So  persist 
ent  was  her  ambitious  industry  that  every  living  thing 
on  the  place  came  in  for  a  sketch.  But  Periwinkle 
was  the  favorite. 

Rob  Riley  came  home  for  July  and  August,  the 
work  in  the  yard  being  dull.  He  kept  aloof  from 
Henrietta,  and  she  nodded  to  him  with  a  severe  and 
almost  disdainful  air  that  made  him  wretched.  After 
three  or  four  weeks  of  this  coolness,  during  which 
Henrietta  got  a  reputation  for  pride  in  the  whole 
country,  Rob  grew  desperate.  What  did  he  care  for 
the  "  stuck-up "  girl  ?  He  would  have  it  out,  any 
how,  the  next  time  he  had  a  chance. 

They  met  one  day  on  the  little  bridge  that  crossed 
the  brook  near  the  schoolhouse.  Henrietta  nodded  a 
bare  recognition. 

"  You  didn't  treat  me  that  way  once,  Henrietta. 
What's  the  matter  ?  Have  I  done  anything  wrong  ? 
Can't  you  be  friendly  ? " 

"  Why  don't  you  be  friendly  ?  "  said  the  girl,  look 
ing  down. 

"I— I?  "said  Rob. 

"  You  haven't  spoken  to  me  since  you  came  home." 

"  Well,  that  isn't  my  fault ;  you  wouldn't  look  at 
me.  I'm  not  going  to  run  after  a  person  that  lives  in 
a  fine  house  and  that  only  nods  her  head  at  me." 


224  DUFFELS. 

"I  don't  live  in  a  fine  house,  but  in  that  old 
frame." 

u  Well,  why  don't  you  be  friendly?" 

"  It  isn't  a  girl's  place  to  be  friendly  first,  is  it?  " 

Rob  stared  at  her. 

"  But  you  had  other  young  men  come  to  see  you 
in  town,  and — you  know  1  couldn't." 

"  I  don't  live  in  town  now." 

"  What  made  you  come  home  ? " 

"If  I'd  wanted  to  I  might  have  stayed  there  and 
had  i  other  young  men,'  as  you  call  them,  coining  to 
see  me  yet." 

Rob  gasped,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Are  you  going  over  to  Mr.  Brown's  ? "  asked 
Henrietta,  to  break  the  awkward  silence  that  followed, 
at  the  same  time  moving  toward  home. 

MVell— no,"  said  Rob;  "I  think  I'm  going  to 
your  house,  if  you've  no  objection,"  and  he  laughed,  a 
foolish  little  laugh. 

"Periwinkle  was  asking  about  you  this  morning," 
said  Henrietta  evasively  as  they  walked  on  toward 
Mr.  Newton's. 

Having  once  fallen  into  the  old  habit  of  going  to 
Mr.  Newton's,  Rob  could  never  get  out  of  the  way 
of  walking  down  that  lane.  Just  to  see  how  Henrietta 
got  on  with  her  drawing,  as  he  said,  he  went  there 
every  evening.  lie  confided  to  Henrietta  that  he  had 
shown  such  proficiency  in  "figures"  in  the  night 


PERIWINKLE.  225 

school  that  he  was  to  have  a  place  in  a  civil  engineer's 
office  when  he  returned  to  the  city  in  the  fall.  It 
wasn't  much  of  a  place  ;  the  salary  was  small,  but  it 
gave  him  an  opportunity  to  study  and  a  chance  of  be 
ing  something  some  day. 

And  Henrietta  went  on  with  her  drawing,  but 
without  ever  saying  anything  about  a  return  to  Cousin 
John's.  And,  indeed,  she  never  did  go  back  to  Cousin 
John's  from  that  day  to  this.  She  spent  three  years 
in  Weston.  If  they  were  tedious  years,  she  said  noth 
ing  about  them.  Rob  came  home  on  Christmas  and 
for  a  week  in  summer.  Once  in  a  long  time  he 
would  run  up  the  Harlem  road  on  Saturday  evening. 
These  were  white  Sundays  when  Rob  was  at  home, 
for  then  he  and  Henrietta  went  to  meeting  together, 
and  sat  on  the  porch  in  the  afternoons  while  Rob  told 
her  how  he  expected  to  be  somebody  some  day. 

But  being  somebody  is  hard  work  and  slow  for 
most  of  us,  as  Rob  Riley  found  out.  His  salary  was 
not  increased  very  fast,  but  he  made  up  for  that  by 
steadily  increasing  his  knowledge  and  his  value  in  the 
office.  For  Rob  had  discovered  that  being  somebody 
means  being  something.  You  can't  hide  any  man 
under  a  bushel  if  he  has  a  real  light  in  him. 

It  was  not  till  last  year  that  Henrietta  returned  to 
the  city.  She  is  a  student  now  in  oil  painting.  But 
she  does  not  live  at  Cousin  John's.  Nor,  indeed,  does 
she  live  in  a  very  fashionable  street,  if  I  must  confess 


DUFFELS. 

it.  There  are  many  old  houses  in  New  York  that 
have  been  abandoned  by  their  owners  because  of  the 
up-town  movement  and  the  west-side  movement  of 
fashion.  These  houses  are  as  quaint  in  their  an 
tique  interiors  as  a  bric-a-brac  cabinet.  In  an  upper 
story  of  one  of  these  subdivided  houses  Rob  Riley 
and  his  wife,  Henrietta,  have  two  old-fashioned  rooms ; 
the  front  room  is  large  and  airy,  with  a  carved  man 
telpiece,  the  back  room  small  and  cosy.  The  furni 
ture  is  rather  plain  and  scant,  for  Rob  has  not  yet  got 
to  be  a  great  engineer  working  on  his  own  account. 
At  present  he  is  one  of  those  little  fish  that  the  big 
fish  are  made  to  eat — an  obscure  man  whose  brains 
are  carried  up  to  the  credit  of  his  chief.  But  he  is 
already  something,  and  is  sure  to  be  somebody.  And, 
for  that  matter,  the  rooms  in  the  old  mansion  in  De 
Witt  Place  are  quite  good  enough  for  two  stout-heart 
ed  young  people  who  are  happy.  The  walls  are  well 
ornamented  with  pictures  from  Henrietta's  own  brush 
and  pencil.  These  are  not  framed,  but  tacked  up 
wherever  the  light  is  good.  The  best  of  them  is  a 
chubby  little  girl  with  a  droll-serious  air,  clad  in  an 
old-fashioned  hood  and  muffled  in  cloaks  and  shawls. 
It  is  a  portrait  of  Periwinkle  as  she  stood  that  night 
on  Cousin  John's  steps  when  she  had  come  down  to 
see  about  Henrietta. 

Henrietta  is  just  finishing  a  picture  called   The 
Culprit,  which  she  hopes  will  be  successful.     It  rep- 


PERIWINKLE.  227 

resents  a  girl  in  a  country  school  arraigned  for  draw 
ing  pictures  on  a  slate.  Rob,  at  least,  thinks  it  very 
fine,  but  he  is  not  a  harsh  critic  of  anything  Henri 
etta  makes. 

Rob  was  talking  one  evening,  as  usual,  about  the 
time  when  he  should  come  to  be  somebody.  But  Hen 
rietta  said :  "  O  Rob,  things  are  nice  enough  as  they 
are  ;  I  don't  believe  we'd  be  any  happier  in  a  house  as 
fine  as  Cousin  John's.  Let's  have  a  good  time  as  we 
go  along,  and  not  mind  about  being  somebody.  But, 
Rob,  I  wish  somebody'd  buy  this  picture,  and  then  we 
could  have  something  to  set  off  this  room  a  little. 
Don't  you  think  a  sofa  would  be  nice  ? "  And  then 
she  looked  at  him,  and  said,  "  You  dear,  good  old 
Rob,  you !  "  though  why  she  should  call  him  old,  or 
what  connection  this  remark  had  with  the  previous 
conversation,  I  do  not  know. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB. 
A  GHOST  STORY. 

"THE  Dickens!" 

That  was  jnst  what  Charley  Vanderhuyn  said  that 
Christinas  Eve,  and  as  a  faithful  historian  I  give  the 
exact  words.  It  sounded  like  swearing,  though  why 
we  should  regard  it  profane  to  make  free  with  the 
devil's  name,  or  even  his  nickname,  I  never  could  see. 
Can  you  ?  Besides,  there  was  some  ambiguity  about 
Charley's  use  of  the  word  under  the  circumstances, 
and  he  himself  couldn't  tell  whether  his  exclamation 
lia«l  reference  to  the  Author  of  Evils  or  only  to  the 
Author  of  Novels.  The  circumstances  were  calculated 
to  suggest  equally  thoughts  of  the  Great  Teller  of 
Stories  and  of  the  Great  Story-teller,  and  I  have  a 
mind  to  amuse  you  at  this  Christmas  season  by  telling 
you  the  circumstances,  and  letting  you  decide,  if  you 
can,  which  Dickens  it  was  that  Charles  Vanderhuyn 
intended. 

Charley  Vanderhuyn  was  one  of  those  young  men 
that  could  grow  nowhere  on  this  continent  except  in 
New  York.  He  had  none  of  the  severe  dignity  that 


THE   CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  229 

belongs  to  a  young  man  of  wealth  who  has  passed  his 
life  in  sight  of  long  rows  of  red  brick  houses  with 
clean  doorsteps  and  white  wooden  shutters.  Some 
thing  of  the  venerableness  of  Independence  Hall,  the 
dignity  of  Girard  College,  and  the  air  of  financial  im 
portance  that  belongs  to  the  Mint  gets  into  the  blood  of 
a  Philadelphian.  Charley  had  none  of  that.  Neither 
did  he  have  that  air  of  profound  thought,  that  Adams- 
Hancock-Quincy-Webster-Emerson-Sumner  look  that 
is  the  inevitable  mark  of  Beacon  Street.  "When  you 
see  such  a  young  man  you  know  that  he  has  grown 
part  of  Faneuil  Hall,  and  the  Common,  and  the  Pond, 
and  the  historic  elm.  He  has  lived  where  the  very 
trees  are  learned  and  carry  their  Latin  names  about 
with  them.  Charley  had  none  of  the  "  vim  "  and  dash 
that  belongs  to  a  Westerner.  He  was  of  the  metropo 
lis — metropolitan.  He  had  good  blood  in  him,  else 
he  could  never  have  founded  the  Christmas  Club,  for 
you  can  not  get  more  out  of  a  man  than  there  is  in 
his  blood.  Charley  Yanderhuyn  bore  a  good  old 
Dutch  name — I  have  heard  that  the  Yan  der  Huyns 
were  a  famous  and  noble  family ;  his  Dutch  blood  was 
mingled  with  other  good  strains,  and  the  whole  was 
mellowed  into  generousness  and  geniality  in  genera 
tions  of  prosperous  ancestors ;  for  the  richest  and 
choicest  fruit  (and  the  rankest  weeds  as  well!)  can 
be  produced  only  in  the  sunlight.  And  a  very  choice 
fruit  of  a  very  choice  stock  was  and  is  our  Charley 


DUFFELS. 

Vanderhuyn.  That  everybody  knows  who  knows  him 
now,  and  that  we  all  felt  who  knew  him  earlier  hi  the 
days  of  the  Hasheesh  Clul>. 

You  remember  the  Hasheesh  Club,  doubtless.  In 
its  day  it  numbered  the  choicest  spirits  in  New  York, 
and  the  very  center  of  all  of  them  was  this  saim- 
Charley  Vanderhuyn,  whose  face,  the  boys  used  to 
say,  was  like  the  British  Empire — for  on  it  the  sun 
never  set.  His  unflagging  spirits,  liis  k< •< -n  love  for 
society,  his  quick  sympathy  with  everybody,  his  fine 
appreciation  of  every  man's  good  points,  whatever  they 
iniirht  be,  made  Charley  a  prince  wherever  he  went. 
I  said  he  was  the  center  of  the  circle  of  young  men 
about  the  Hasheesh  Club  ten  years  ago;  and  so  he 
was,  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  was  then  but  about 
t  \vcnty -one  years  of  age.  They  had  a  great  time  at 
the  club,  I  remember,  when  he  came  of  age  and  came 
into  possession  of  his  patrimony — a  trifle  of  half  a  mil 
lion,  I  believe.  He  gave  a  dinner,  and  there  was  such  a 
time  as  the  Hasheesh  Club  never  saw  before  nor  since. 
I  fear  there  was  overmuch  wrine-d  rink  ing,  and  I  am 
sure  there  wras  a  fearful  amount  of  punch  drunk. 
Charley  never  drank  to  excess,  never  lost  his  self-con 
trol  for  a  moment  under  any  temptation.  But  there 
was  many  another  young  man,  of  diiferent  tempera 
ment,  to  whom  the  rooms  of  the  club  wcro  what 
candles  are  to  moths.  One  poor  fellow,  who  always 
burned  his  wings,  was  a  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  young 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  231 

magazine  writer  of  that  day.  "We  all  thought  of  his 
ability  and  promise — his  name  was  John  Perdue,  but 
you  will  doubtless  remember  him  by  his  nom  de plume 
of  "  Baron  Bertram."  Poor  fellow  !  he  loved  Char 
ley  passionately,  and  always  drank  himself  drunk  at 
the  club.  He  wasted  all  he  had  and  all  he  made ;  his 
clothes  grew  shabby,  he  borrowed  of  Charley,  who 
was  always  open-handed,  until  his  pride  would  allow 
him  to  borrow  no  more.  He  had  just  married,  too, 
and  he  was  so  ashamed  of  his  own  wreck  that  he  com 
pleted  his  ruin  by  drinking  to  forget  it. 

I  am  not  writing  a  story  with  a  temperance  moral ; 
temperance  tales  are  always  stupid  and  always  useless. 
The  world  is  brimful  of  walking  morals  on  that  sub 
ject,  and  if  one  will  not  read  the  lesson  of  the  life 
of  his  next-door  neighbor,  what  use  of  bringing  Laza 
rus  from  the  dead  to  warn  him  of  a  perdition  that 
glares  at  him  out  of  the  eyes  of  so  many  men  ? 

I  mentioned  John  Perdue — poor  golden-haired 
"  Baron  Bertram  " — only  because  he  had  something 
to  do  with  the  circumstances  which  led  Charley  Yan- 
derhuyn  to  use  that  ambiguous  interjection  about 
"  the  Dickens  ! "  Perdue,  as  I  said,  dropped  away 
from  the  Hasheesh  Club,  lost  his  employment  as  lit 
erary  editor  of  the  Luminary,  fell  out  of  good  society, 
and  at  last  earned  barely  enough  to  keep  him  and  his 
wife  and  his  child  in  bread,  and  to  supply  himself 
with  whisky,  by  writing  sensation  stories  for  the 


232  DUFFELS. 

"  penny  dreadfuls."  We  all  suspected  that  he  would 
not  have  received  half  so  much  for  his  articles  had 
they  been  paid  for  on  their  merits  or  at  the  standard 
price  for  hack  writing.  But  Charley  Vanderliuvn 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  He  sent  Henry  Vail— 
In-  always  sent  Henry  Vail  on  his  missions  of  mercy 
—to  find  out  where  Perdue  sold  his  articles,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  the  price  of  each  article  was  doubled, 
at  Vanderhuyn's  expense. 

And  that  mention  of  Henry  Vail  reminds  me 
that  I  can  not  tell  this  story  rightly  unless  I  let  you 
know  who  he  was.  A  distant  relation  of  Charley's,  I 
believe.  lie  was  a  studious  fellow  from  the  country, 
and  quite  awkward  in  company.  The  contrast  be 
tween  him  and  Charley  was  marked.  Vanderhuyn 
was  absolutely  an  fait  in  all  the  usages  of  society  ;  he 
knew  by  instinct  how  a  thing  ought  to  be  done,  and 
his  example  was  law.  lie  had  a  genius  for  it,  every 
body  said.  Vail  was  afraid  of  his  shadow ;  did  not 
know  just  what  was  proper  to  do  in  any  new  circum 
stances.  His  manners  hung  about  him  loosely ;  Van- 
derhuyn's  were  part  of  himself.  When  Vail  came  to 
the  Ha>hee>h  Club  for  the  first  time  it  was  on  the  oc 
casion  of  Charley's  majority  dinner.  Vail  consulted 
Vanderhuyn  about  his  costume,  and  was  told  that  he 
must  wear  evening  dress  ;  and,  never  having  seen  any 
thing  but  provincial  society,  he  went  with  )>ertVrt 
a  — nranre  to  a  tailor's  and  ordered  a  new  frock  COftl 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  233 

and  a  white  vest.  When  he  saw  that  the  other  gen 
tlemen  present  wore  dress  coats,  and  that  most  of 
them  had  black  vests,  he  was  in  some  consternation. 
He  even  debated  whether  he  should  not  go  out  and 
hire  a  dress  coat  for  the  evening.  He  drew  Charley 
aside,  and  asked  him  why  he  did  not  tell  him  that 
those  sparrow-tail  things  had  come  into  fashion  again  • 

But  he  never  took  kindly  to  the  club  life ;  he  soon 
saw  that  however  harmless  it  might  be  to  some  men, 
it  was  destruction  to  others.  After  attending  a  few 
times,  Henry  Vail,  who  was  something  of  a  Puritan 
and  much  of  a  philanthropist,  declared  his  opposition 
to  what  he  called  an  English  dissipation. 

Henry  Vail  was  a  scholarly  fellow,  of  real  genius, 
and  had  studied  for  the  ministry ;  but  he  had  original 
notions,  and  about  the  time  he  was  to  have  taken 
deacon's  orders  in  the  Episcopal  Church  he  drew  back. 
He  said  that  orders  would  do  for  some  men,  but  he 
did  not  intend  to  build  a  wall  between  himself  and  his 
fellows.  He  could  do  more  by  remaining  a  man  of 
like  passions  with  other  men  than  he  could  by  casing 
himself  in  a  clerical  "  strait- jacket,"  as  he  called  it. 
Having  a  little  income  of  his  own,  he  set  up  on  his 
own  account  in  the  dingiest  part  of  that  dingy  street 
called  Huckleberry  Street — the  name,  with  all  its  sug 
gestions  of  fresh  fields  and  pure  air  and  liberty,  is  a 
dreary  mockery.  Just  where  Greenfield  Court — the 

dirtiest  of  New  York   alleys — runs  out  of  Huckle- 
16 


234  DUFFELS. 

berry  Street,  he  set  up  shop,  to  use  his  own  expres 
sion.  He  was  a  kind  of  independent  lay  clergy 
man,  mini.-tcring  to  the  physical  and  spiritual  wants 
of  his  neighbors,  climbing  to  garrets  and  penetrating 
to  cellars,  now  talking  to  a  woman  who  owned  a 
candy  and  gingerbread  stall,  and  now  helping  to  bury 
a  drunken  sailor.  Such  a  life  for  a  scholar  !  But  he 
always  declared  that  digging  out  Greek  and  Hebrew 
roots  was  not  half  so  fascinating  a  w«»rk  as  digging 
out  human  souls  from  the  filth  of  Huckleberry  Street. 
Of  course  he  did  not  want  for  money  to  carry  on 
his  operations.  Charley  Vanderhuyn's  investments 
brought  large  returns,  and  Charley  knew  how  to  give. 
When  Vail  would  begin  a  pathetic  story,  Yanderhuvn 
would  draw  out  his  check  book,  and  say:  "  How  much 
shall  it  be,  Harry  ? — never  mind  the  story.  It's  handy 
to  have  you  to  give  away  my  money  for  me.  I  should 
never  take  the  trouble  to  see  that  it  went  to  the  peo 
ple  that  need.  One  dollar  given  by  you  is  worth  ten 
tluit  I  bestow  on  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry;  so  I  pre 
fer  to  let  Tom  and  Dick  go  without,  and  give  it  all  to 
Harry."  In  fact  Vanderhuyn  had  been  the  prey  of 
so  many  impostors  that  he  adopted  the  plan  of  send 
ing  all  of  his  applicants  to  Vail,  with  a  note  to  him, 
which  generally  ran  thus,  "  Please  investigate."  The 
tramps  soon  ceased  to  trouble  him,  and  then  he  took 
to  intrusting  tu  Vail  each  month  a  sum  equal  to  what 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving  away  loosely. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  235 

It  was  about  the  first  of  December,  four  years  ago, 
that  Harry  Vail,  grown  younger  and  fresher  in  two 
years  of  toil  among  the  poor — glorified  he  seemed  by 
the  tenderness  of  his  sympathies  and  the  nobleness  of 
his  aims — it  was  four  years  ago  that  Harry  came  into 
Charley  Vanderhuyn's  rooms  for  his  regular  monthly 
allotment.  Tail  generally  came  in  the  evening,  and 
Charley  generally  managed  to  be  disengaged  for  that 
evening.  The  two  old  friends  whose  paths  diverged 
so  widely  were  fond  of  each  other's  company,  and 
Yail  declared  that  he  needed  one  evening  in  the 
month  with  Yanderhuyn  ;  he  liked  to  carry  away 
some  of  Charley's  sunshine  to  the  darkness  of  Huckle 
berry  Street  and  Greenfield  Court.  And  Charley  said 
that  Harry  brought  more  sunlight  than  he  took.  I 
believe  he  was  right.  Charley,  like  all  men  who  live 
without  a  purpose,  wras  growing  less  refined  and 
charming  than  he  had  been,  his  cheeks  were  just  a 
trifle  graver  than  those  of  the  young  Charley  had 
been.  But  he  talked  magnificently  as  ever.  Yail 
said  that  he  himself  was  an  explorer  in  a  barbarous 
desert,  and  that  Charles  Yanderhuyn  was  the  one  civil 
ized  man  he  could  meet. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that  Yail  had  never  urged 
Charley  to  a  different  life  from  the  self-indulgent  one 
that  he  led,  but  it  was  a  peculiarity  of  Henry's  that  he 
was  slow  to  attack  a  man  directly.  I  have  heard  that 
it  wTas  one  great  secret  of  his  success  among  the  poor, 


236  DUFFELS. 

that  he  would  meet  an  intemperate  man  twenty  times, 
perhaps,  before  he  attacked  his  vice.  Then,  when 
the  man  had  ceased  to  stand  guard,  Vail  would  sud 
denly  find  an  entrance  to  him  by  an  unwatched  gate. 
It  was  remarkable,  too,  that  when  he  did  seize  on  a 
man  he  never  for  an  instant  relaxed  his  grasp.  I 
have  often  looked  at  his  aquiline  nose,  and  wondered 
if  it  were  not  an  index  to  this  eagle-like  swoop  at  the 
right  moment,  and  this  unwavering  firmness  of  hold. 

On  this  evening,  about  the  first  of  December,  four 
years  ago,  he  sat  in  Charley's  cozy  bedroom  and  lis 
tened  to  Vanderhuyn's  stories  of  a  life  antipodal  to 
the  life  he  was  accustomed  to  see — for  the  antipodes 
do  not  live  round  the  world,  but  round  the  first  street 
corner  ;  he  listened  and  laughed  at  the  graphic  and 
eloquent  and  grotesque  pictures  that  Charley  drew  for 
him  till  nearly  midnight,  and  then  got  ready  to  go 
back  to  his  home,  among  the  noisy  saloons  of  Huckle 
berry  Street.  Charley  drew  out  his  check  book  and 
wrote  and  tore  off  the  check,  and  handed  it  to  Vail. 

"I  want  more,  Charley,  this  time,"  said  Vail  in 
his  quiet,  earnest  way,  with  gray  eyes  fixed  on  his 
friend's  blue  ones. 

"  Got  more  widows  without  coal  than  usual,  eh, 
old  fellow  ?  How  much  shall  it  be  ?  Double  ?  Ask 
anything.  I  can't  refuse  the  half  of  my  fortune  to 
such  a  good  angel  as  you  are,  Vail.  I  don't  spend 
any  money  that  pays  so  well  as  what  I  give  you.  I 


THE  CHRISTMAS   CLUB.  237 

go  to  the  clubs  and  to  parties.  I  sit  at  the  opera  and 
listen  to  Signora  Scracehioli,  and  say  to  myself, '  "Well, 
there's  Tail  using  my  money  to  help  some  poor  devil 
in  trouble.'  I  tell  you  I  get  a  comfortable  conscience 
by  an  easy  system  of  commutation.  Here,  exchange 
with  me  ;  this  is  for  double  the  amount,  and  I  am  glad 
you  mentioned  it." 

"  But  I  want  more  than  that  this  time,"  and  Tail 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Charley  in  a  way  that  made  the  lat 
ter  feel  just  a  little  ill  at  ease,  a  sensation  very  new  to 
him. 

""Well,  how  much,  Harry?  Don't  be  afraid  to 
ask.  I  told  you  you  should  have  half  my  kingdom, 
old  fellow  ! "  And  Vanderhuyn  took  his  pen  and 
began  to  date  another  check. 

"  But,  Charley,  I  am  almost  afraid  to  ask.  I  want 
more  than  half  you  have — I  want  something  worth 
more  than  all  you  have." 

"  Why,  you  make  me  curious.  Never  saw  you  in 
that  vein  before,  Tail,"  and  Charley  twisted  a  piece 
of  paper,  lighted  it  in  the  gas  jet,  and  held  it  grace 
fully  in  his  fingers  while  he  set  his  cigar  going,  hop 
ing  to  hide  his  restlessness  under  the  wistful  gaze  of 
his  friend  by  this  occupation  of  his  attention. 

But  however  nervous  Henry  Yail  might  be  in  the 
performance  of  little  acts  that  were  mere  matters  of 
convention,  there  was  no  lack  of  quiet  self-possession 
in  matters  that  called  out  his  earnestness  of  spirit. 


DUFFELS. 

And  now  lie  sat  ga/.ing  steadily  at  Charley  until  the 
cigar  had  been  gracefully  lighted,  the  hit  of  paper 
tossed  on  the  grate,  and  until  Charley  had  watehed 
his  cigar  a  moment.  When  the  latter  reluctantly 
brought  his  eyes  back  into  range  with  the  dead-ear 
nest  ones  that  had  never  ceased  to  look  on  him  with 
that  strange  wistful  expression,  then  Henry  Vail  pro 
ceeded  : 

"  I  want  you,  Charley." 

Charley  laughed  heartily  now.  "Me?  What  a 
missionary  /  would  make!  Kid-glove  gospeller  I'd 
be  called  in  the  first  three  days.  What  a  superb  Sun 
day-school  teacher  I'd  make  !  Why,  Henry  Vail,  you 
know  letter.  There's  just  one  thing  in  this  world 
I  have  a  talent  for,  and  that's  society.  I'm  a  man  of 
the  world  in  my  very  fiber.  But  as  for  following  in 
your  illustrious  footsteps — I  wish  I  could  4)e  so  good 
a  man,  but  you  see  I'm  not  built  in  that  way.  I'm  a 
man  of  the  world." 

"That's  just  what  I  want,"  said  Henry  Vail,  look 
ing  with  the  same  tender  wistfulness  into  his  friend's 
eyes.  "If  I'd  wanted  a  missionary  I  shouldn't  have 
come  to  you.  If  I'd  wanted  a  Sunday-school  teacher 
I  could  have  found  twenty  better;  and  as  for  tra<-t 
distributing  and  Mible  reading,  you  couldn't  do  either 
if  you'd  try.  What  I  want  for  Huckleberry  Street 
more  than  I  want  anything  else  is  a  man  of  the  world. 
Y<»u  are  a  man  of  the  world — of  the  whole  world. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  239 

I  liave  seen  a  restaurant  waiter  stop  and  gape  and 
listen  to  your  talk.  I  have  seen  a  coal-heaver  de 
lighted  with  your  manners  when  you  paid  him.  Char 
ley,  you're  the  most  magnificent  man  of  the  world  I 
ever  saw.  Must  a  man  of  the  world  be  useless  ?  I 
tell  you  I  want  you  for  God  and  Huckleberry  Street, 
and  I  mean  to  have  you  some  day,  old  fellow."  And 
the  perfect  assurance  with  which  he  said  this,  and  the 
settled  conviction  of  final  success  that  was  visible  in 
his  quiet  gray  eyes,  fascinated  Charley  Yanderhuyn, 
and  he  felt  spellbound,  like  the  wedding  guest  held 
by  the  "  Ancient  Mariner." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Henry,"  he  said  presently,  "  I've 
got  no  call.  I'm  an  Epicurean.  I  say  to  you,  in  the 
words  of  an  American  poet : 

*  Take  the  current  of  your  nature,  make  it  stagnant  if  you 
will: 

Dam  it  up  to  drudge  forever  at  the  service  of  your  will. 

Mine  the  rapture  and  the  freedom  of  the  torrent  on  the 
hill! 

I  shall  wander  o'er  the  meadows  where  the  fairest  blos 
soms  call : 

Though  the  ledges  seize  and  fling  me  headlong  from  the 
rocky  wall, 

I  shall  leave  a  rainbow  hanging  o'er  the  ruins  of  my 
fall.'" 

"  Charley,  I  don't  want  to  preach,"  said  Yail ; 
"  but  you  know  that  this  doctrine  of  mere  selfish  float 
ing  on  the  current  of  impulse  which  your  traveler 
poet  teaches  is  devilish  laziness,  and  devilish  laziness 


DUFFELS. 

always  tends  to  somethini:  WOTBQ*  You  may  live  Midi 
a  life,  and  quote  such  poetry,  but  you  don't  believe 
that  a  man  should  flow  on  like  a  purposeless  river. 
The  lines  you  quoted  hear  the  mark  of  a  restless  de 
sire  to  apologize  to  conscience  for  a  fearful  waste  of 
power  and  possibility.  No,"  he,  said,  ri>ing,  u  1  don't 
want  that  check.  This  one  will  do ;  but  you  won't 
forget  that  God  and  Huckleberry  Street  want  you,  and 
they  will  have  you,  too,  noble-hearted  fellow!  Good 
night !  God  bless  YOU  !  "  and  he  shook  Charley's  hand 
and  went  out  into  the  night  to  seek  his  home  in 
Huckleberry  Street.  And  the  genial  Charley  never 
>;i\v  his  brave  friend  again.  Yes,  lie  did,  too.  Or 
did  he? 

II. 

The  month  of  December,  four  years  ago,  was  a 
month  of  much  festivity  in  the  metropolis.  Charley 
was  wanted  nearly  every  night  to  grace  some  gathering 
or  other,  and  Charley  was  too  obliging  to  refuse  to  go 
where  he  was  wanted — that  is,  when  he  was  wanted 
in  Fifth  Avenue  or  Thirty-fourth  Street.*  As  for 
Huckleberry  Street  and  Greenfield  Court,  they  were 
fast  fading  out  of  Charley's  mind.  He  knew  that 
Henry  Vail  would  introduce  the  subject  when  he 


*  The  reader  will  remember  that  this  was  written  in  1872.  I 
<1  >n<>t  know  how  far  the  uptown  centers  of  fashion  will  be  in  twenty 
| 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB. 

came  for  his  January  check,  and  he  expected  some 
annoyance  from  the  discussion  of  the  question — an 
noyance,  because  there  was  something  in  his  own 
breast  that  answered  to  Yail's  appeal.  Charley  was 
more  than  an  Epicurean.  To  eat  and  drink,  to  laugh 
and  talk,  and  die,  was  not  enough  for  such  a  soul. 
He  mentally  compared  himself  to  Felix,  and  said  that 
Yail  wouldn't  let  him  forget  his  duty,  anyhow.  But 
for  the  present  it  was  too  delightful  to  him  to  honor 
the  entertainment  given  by  the  Honorable  Mr.  So-and- 
so  and  Mrs.  So-and-so ;  it  was  pleasant  to  be  assured 
by  Mrs.  Forty-Millions  that  her  party  would  fail  but 
for  his  presence.  And  then  he  had  just  achieved 
the  end  of  his  ambition.  He  was  president  of  the 
Hasheesh  Club.  He  took  his  seat  at  the  head  of  the 
table  on  Christmas  Eve. 

Now,  patient  reader,  we  draw  near  to  the  time 
when  Charley  uttered  the  exclamation  set  down  at 
the  head  of  this  story.  Bear  a  little  longer  with  my 
roundabout  way  of  telling.  It  is  Christmastide  any 
way;  why  should  we  hurry  ourselves  through  this 
happy  season  ? 

Just  as  Charley  went  into  the  door  of  the  club 
house — you  remember  the  Hasheesh  clubhouse  was  in 
Madison  Avenue  then — just  as  Charley  entered  he  met 
the  burly  form  and  genial  face  of  the  eminent  Dr. 
Yan  Doser,  who  said,  "Well,  Yanderhuyn,  how's 
your  cousin  Yail  ? " 


DUFFK1.S. 

"Is  he  sick?"  asked  Charley,  struck  with  a  fore 
boding  that  made  him  tremble. 

" Sick  ?  Didn't  you  know?  Well,  that's  just  like 
Vail.  lie  was  taken  with  smallpox  two  weeks  ag<>, 
and  I  wanted  to  take  the  r\>k  of  penalties  and  not 
report  his  case,  but  he  said  if  I  didn't  he  would  do  it 
himself;  that  sanitary  regulations  requiring  smallpox 
patients  to  go  to  a  hospital  were  necessary,  and  that 
it  heeanie  one  in  his  position  to  set  a  good  example 
to  Huckleberry  Street.  So  I  was  compelled  to  report 
him  and  let  him  go  to  the  island.  And  he  hasn't  let 
you  know  ? — for  fear  you  would  try  to  communicate 
with  him  probably,  and  thus  expose  yourself  to  infec 
tion.  Extraordinary  man,  that  Vail.  I  never  saw  his 
like,"  and  with  that  the  doctor  turned  to  speak  to 
some  gentlemen  who  had  just  come  in. 

And  so  Charley's  Christmas  Eve  dinner  at  the 
Hasheesh  Club  was  spoiled.  There  are  two  inconven 
ient  things  in  this  world,  a  conscience  and  a  tender 
heart,  and  Charley  Vanderhuyn  was  plagued  with 
both.  While  going  through  with  the  toasts,  his  mind 
Wlfl  busy  with  poor  Henry  Vail  suffering  in  a  small- 
p-»x  hospital.  In  his  graceful  response  to  the  senti 
ment,  "The  President  of  the  Hasheesh  Club,"  he  al 
luded  to  the  retiring  president,  and  made  some  witty 
remark — I  forget  what — about  his  being  a  denizen  of 
Lexington  Avenue;  but  in  saying  Lexington  Avenue 
he  came  near  Dipping  into  Huckleberry  Street,  and 


THE   CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  213 

in  fact  lie  did  get  the  first  syllable  out  before  he 
checked  himself.  He  was  horrified  afterward  to  think 
how  near  he  had  come,  later  in  the  evening,  to  ad 
dressing  the  company  as  "  Gentlemen  of  the  Small 
pox  Hospital." 

Charley  drank  more  wine  and  punch  than  usual. 
Those  who  sat  near  him  looked  at  one  another  sig 
nificantly,  in  a  way  that  implied  their  belief  that 
Yanderhuyn  was  too  much  elated  over  his  election. 
Little  did  they  know  that  at  that  moment  the  presi 
dency  of  the  famous  Hasheesh  Club  appeared  to  Char 
ley  the  veriest  bawble  in  the  world.  If  he  had  not 
known  how  futile  would  be  any  attempt  to  gain  an 
entrance  to  the  smallpox  hospital,  he  would  have  ex 
cused  himself  and  started  for  the  island  on  the  in 
stant. 

But  it  was  one  o'clock  before  Charley  got  away. 
Out  of  the  brilliantly  lighted  rooms  he  walked,  stunned 
with  grief,  and  a  little  heavy  with  the  wine  and  punch 
he  had  drunk,  for  in  his  preoccupation  of  mind  he 
had  forgotten  to  be  as  cautious  as  usual.  Following 
an  impulse,  he  took  a  car  and  went  directly  downtown, 
and  then  made  his  way  to  Huckleberry  Street.  He 
stopped  at  a  saloon  door  and  asked  if  they  could  tell 
him  where  Mr.  Vail's  rooms  were. 

"  The  blissed  man  as  wint  about  like  a  saint  ? 
Shure  and  I  can,"  said  the  boozy  Irishman.  "  It's 
right  ferninst  where  yer  afther  stan'in,  up  the  stairs 


244  DUFFELS. 

on  the  corner  of  Granefield  Coort — over  there,  be- 
dad." 

Seeing  a  light  in  the  rooms  indicated  by  the  man, 
Charley  crossed  over,  passed  through  a  sorrowful-look 
ing  crowd  at  the  door,  and  went  up  the  stairs.  He 
found  the  negro  woman  who  kept  the  rooms  for  Yail 
standing  talking  to  an  Irish  woman.  Both  the  women 
were  deeply  pitted  with  smallpox. 

He  inquired  if  they  could  tell  him  how  Mr.  Vail  was. 

'*  O  honey,  he's  done  dead  sence  three  o'clock," 
said  the  black  woman,  sitting  down  in  a  chair  and  be 
ginning  to  wipe  her  eyes  on  her  apron.  "  This  Missus 
Mcgroarty's  jist  done  tole  me  this  minute." 

The  Irish  woman  came  round  in  front  of  Mr.  Van- 
derhuyn  and  looked  inquisitively  at  him  a  moment, 
and  then  said,  "  Faix,  mister,  and  is  yer  name  Char 
ley?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ? "  said  Yanderhuyn. 

"  Because  I  thought,  mebbe,  you  might  be  after 
him,  the  gentleman.  It's  me  husband,  Pat  Mcgroarty, 
as  is  a  nurruss  in  the  horsepital,  and  a  good  one  as  m-r 
ye  seed,  and  it's  Pat  as  has  been  a-tellin'  me  about  that 
blissed  saint  of  a  man,  as  how  in  hisdclairyum  he  kept 
a-talkin'  to  Charley  all  the  time,  and  Pat  said  as  he 
seemed  to  have  something  on  his  mind  he  wanted  to 
say  to  Charley.  An'  whin  I  see  yer  face,  sich  a  gin- 
tleman's  face  as  ye've  got,  too,  I  says  shure  that  must 
be  Charley." 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  245 

"  What  did  he  say  ? "  asked  Vanderhuyn. 

"  Shure,  and  Pat  said  it  wasn't  much  he  could 
gether,  for  he  was  in  a  awful  delairyum,  ye  know, 
but  he  would  keep  a-sayin',  '  Charley,  Charley,  God 
and  Huckleberry  Street  want  you.'  Pat  says  he'd  say 
it  so  awful  as  would  make  him  shiver,  that  God  and 
Huckleberry  Street  wanted  Charley.  Shure  it  must 
a  bin  the  delairyum,  you  know,  that  made  him  mix 
up  things  loike,  and  put  God  and  Huckleberry  Street 
together,  when  its  more  loike  the  divil  would  seem 
more  proper  to  go  with  Huckleberry  Street,  ye  know. 
But  if  yer  name's  Charley,  and  yer  loike  the  loikes  of 
him  as  is  dead,  shure  Huckleberry  Street  is  after  want- 
in'  of  you,  bad  enough." 

"  My  name's  Charley,  but  I'm  not  a  bit  like  him, 
though,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  my  good  woman.  Tell  your 
husband  to  come  and  see  me — there's  my  number." 

Charley  went  out,  and  the  men  at  the  door  whis 
pered,  "  That  must  be  the  rich  man  as  give  him  all 
the  money."  He  took  the  last  car  uptown,  and  he 
who  had  been  two  hours  before  in  that  brilliant  com 
pany  at  the  Hasheesh  was  now  one  of  ten  people  rid 
ing  in  a  street  car.  Of  his  fellow-passengers  six  were 
drunken  men  and  two  were  low  women  of  the  town ; 
one  of  them  had  no  bonnet,  and  lacked  a  penny  of 
enough  to  pay  her  fare,  but  the  conductor  mercifully 
let  her  ride,  remarking  to  Yanderhuyn,  who  stood  on 
the  platform,  that  "  the  poor  devil  has  a  hard  life  any 


246  DUFFELS. 

how."  Said  I  not  a  minute  ago,  that  the  antipodes 
live  not  around  the  world,  but  around  the  street  cor 
ner  ?  Antipodes  ride  in  the  same  street  car. 

As  the  car  was  passing  Mott  Street,  a  passenger, 
half  drunk,  came  out,  turned  his  hazard  face  a  mo 
ment  toward  the  face  of  Charley  Vanderhuyn,  and 
then,  with  an  exclamation  of  startled  recognition, 
leaped  from  the  car  and  hurried  away  in  the  darkness. 
It  was  not  till  the  car  had  gone  three  blocks  farther 
that  Vanderhuyn  guessed,  from  the  golden  hair,  that 
this  was  Perdue,  the  brilliant  "  Baron  Bertram  "  of 
the  early  days  of  the  Hasheesh  Club. 

When  Charley  got  back  to  his  luxurious  apart 
ment  he  was  possessed  with  a  superstitious  feeling. 
He  took  up  the  paper  weight  that  Henry  Vail  had 
held  in  his  hand  the  very  last  night  he  wa>  in  this  par 
lor,  and  he  thought  the  whole  conversation  over  as  he 
smoked  his  cigar,  fearing  to  put  out  his  light. 

"Confound  the  man  that  invented  ghost  stories 
for  a  Christmas  amusement ! "  he  said,  as  he  remem 
bered  Old  Scrooge  and  Tiny  Tim.  "  Well,  Tin  not 
Old  Scrooge,  anyhow,  if  I'm  not  as  good  as  poor 
Henry  Vail." 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  the  reaction  from 
the  punch  he  had  drunk,  or  the  sudden  shock  of 
Vail's  death,  or  the  troubled  conscience,  or  from  all 
three,  but  when  lie  got  into  bed  he  found  himself 
shaking  with  nervousness. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  247 

He  had  been  asleep  an  hour,  perhaps,  when  he 
heard  a  genuine  Irish  voice  say,  "  Faix,  mister,  and  is 
yer  name  Charley  ?  " 

He  started  up — looked  around  the  room.  He 
had  made  so  much  concession  to  his  nervous  feeling 
that  he  had  not  turned  the  gas  quite  out,  as  was  his 
custom.  The  dim  duskiness  made  him  shudder;  he 
expected  to  see  the  Huckleberry  Street  Irish  woman 
looking  at  him.  But  he  shook  off  his  terror  a  little, 
uttered  another  malediction  on  the  man  that  invented 
Christmas  ghost  stories,  concluded  that  his  illusion 
must  have  come  from  his  lying  on  his  left  side,  turned 
over,  and  reflected  that  by  so  doing  he  would  relieve 
his  heart  and  stomach  from  the  weight  of  his  liver, 
repeated  this  physiological  reflection  in  a  soothing 
way  two  or  three  times,  dropped  off  into  a  quiet 
snooze,  and  almost  immediately  found  himself  sitting 
bolt  upright  in  bed,  shaking  with  a  chill  terror,  sure 
that  the  Irish  voice  had  again  asked  the  question, 
ic  Faix,  mister,  and  is  yer  name  Charley  ? "  He  had 
a  feeling,  though  his  back  was  toward  the  table, 
that  some  one  sat  at  the  table.  Charley  was  no  cow 
ard,  but  it  took  him  a  minute  or  two  to  shake  off 
his  terror  and  regain  enough  self-control  to  look 
around. 

For  a  moment  he  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  a  form 
sitting  at  the  table,  then  it  disappeared,  and  then, 
after  a  good  while,  Charley  got  himself  composed  to 


248  DUFFELS. 

sleep  again,  this  time  with  his  head  well  bolstered,  to 
reduce  the  circulation  in  the  brain,  as  he  reflected. 

He  did  not  get  to  sleep,  however,  for  before  he 
became  unconscious  the  Irish  voice  from  just  above 
the  carved  headboard  spoke  out  so  clear  now  that 
there  could  be  no  mistake,  "  Faix,  mister,  and  is  yer 
name  Charley  ?  "  It  was  then  that  he  rose  in  bed  and 
uttered  the  exclamation  which  I  set  down  in  the  lirst 
line  of  this  story.  Charley  Yanderhuyn  could  not 
tell  whether  he  meant  Charles  Dickens  or  Nick. 
Perhaps  you  can.  Indeed,  it  doesn't  seem  to  matter 
much,  after  all. 

III. 

A  narrative  of  this  sort,  like  a  French  sermon, 
divides  itself  into  three  parts.  I  have  now  got 
through  the  preliminary  tanglements  of  the  history 
of  the  founding  of  the  Christmas  Club,  and  I  hope  to 
be  able  to  tell  the  remainder  of  the  story  with  as  few 
digressions  as  possible,  for  at  Christmastide  a  body 
doesn't  want  his  stories  to  stretch  out  to  eternity,  even 
if  they  are  ghostly. 

Charley  Yanderhuyn  said  "The  Dickens!"  and 
though  his  meaning  was  indefinite,  he  really  meant 
it,  whatever  it  might  be.  lie  looked  up  at  the  orna 
mental  figure  carved  on  the  rich  headboard  of  his 
bed  as  if  he  suspected  that  the  headboard  of  English 
walnut  had  spoken  in  Irish.  Hr  linked  at  tlu-  lu-a<l- 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  249 

board  intently  a  long  time,  partly  because  the  Irish 
voice  had  come  from  that  direction,  and  partly  be 
cause  he  was  afraid  to  look  round  toward  the  table. 
He  knew,  just  as  well  before  he  looked  around  as  he 
did  afterward,  what  he  should  see.  He  saw  it  before 
he  looked  round  by  some  other  vision  than  that  of  his 
eyes,  and  that  was  what  made  him  shiver  so.  He 
knew  that  the  persistent  gray  eyes  were  upon  him, 
that  they  would  never  move  until  he  looked  round. 
He  could  feel  the  look  before  lie  saw  it. 

At  last  he  turned  slowly.  Sure  enough,  in  that 
very  chair  by  the  table  sat  the  Presence,  the  Ghost — 
the — it  was  Henry  Yail ;  or  was  it  ?  There,  in  the 
dim  light,  was  the  aquiline  nose  like  an  eagle's  beak, 
there  were  the  steady,  unwavering  gray  eyes,  with 
that  same  earnest,  wistful  look  fastened  on  Vander- 
huyn  ;  the  features  were  Vail's,  but  the  face  was 
plowed  and  pitted  fearfully  as  with  the  smallpox.  All 
this  Charley  saw,  while  seeing  through  the  ghost  and 
beyond — the  carving  on  the  rosewood  dressing  case 
was  quite  as  visible  through  the  unsubstantial  appa 
rition  as  before.  Charley  was  not  ordinarily  super 
stitious,  and  he  quickly  reasoned  that  his  excited  im 
agination  had  confounded  the  features  of  Harry  Yail's 
face  with  the  pock-marked  visage  of  the  Huckleberry 
Street  Irish  woman.  So  he  shook  himself,  rubbed  his 
eyes  and  looked  again.  The  apparition  this  time 

was   much   more    distinct,   and   it   lifted   the   paper 
17 


250  DUFFELS. 

weight,  AS  Henry  had  three  weeks  l>efore.  Charley 
was  so  sure  that  it  was  Henry  Vail  himself  that  he 
began  to  get  up  to  shake  hands  with  his  friend,  but 
the  perfect  transparency  of  the  apparition  checked 
him,  and  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  a  moment,  in  a 
terror  that  he  could  no  longer  conceal  from  himself. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  lifting  his 
eyes. 

"  I  want  you,  Charley ! "  said  the  ghost. 

Now  I  hardly  know  how  to  describe  to  you  the 
manner  in  which  the  ghost  replied.  It  was  not 
speech,  nor  any  attempt  at  speech.  Y«»u  have  seen  a 
mesmerist  or  biologist,  or  whatever-you-call-him-ist, 
communicate  with  a  man  under  his  spell  without 
speech.  He  looks  at  him,  wills  that  a  distinct  im 
pression  shall  be  made  on  his  victim,  and  the  poor 
fellow  does  or  says  as  the  master  spirit  wishes  him. 
By  some  such  subtle  influence  the  ghost,  without  the 
intervention  of  sound  or  the  sense  of  hearing,  con 
veyed  this  reply  to  Charley.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  the  reply.  It  was  far  more  distinct  than 
speech — an  impression  made  directly  upon  the  con 
sciousness. 

Charley  arose  and  dressed  himself  under  some 
sort  of  fascination.  His  own  will  had  abdicated;  the 
tender,  eager,  wistful  eyes  of  Vail  held  him  fast,  and 
he  did  not  feel  either  inclination  or  power  to  resist. 
The  eyes  directed  him  to  one  article  of  clothing,  and 


THE   CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  251 

then  to  another,  until  he  found  himself  muffled  to  the 
ears  for  a  night  walk. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ? "  asked  Charley  huskily. 

"To  Huckleberry  Street,"  answered  the  eyes, 
without  a  sound,  and  in  a  minute  .more  the  two  were 
passing  down  the  silent  streets.  They  met  several 
policemen  and  private  watchmen,  but  Vanderhuyn 
observed  that  no  one  took  notice  either  of  him  or  the 
ghost.  The  feet  of  the  watchmen  made  a  grinding 
noise  in  the  crisp  snow,  but  Charley  was  horrified  to 
find  that  his  own  tread  and  that  of  his  companion 
made  no  sound  whatever  as  their  feet  fell  upon  the 
icy  sidewalks.  Was  he,  then,  out  of  the  body  also  ? 
This  silence  and  this  loss  of  the  power  of  choice  made 
him  doubtful,  indeed,  whether  he  were  dead  or  alive. 

In  Huckleberry  Street  they  went  first  to  a  large 
saloon,  where  a  set  of  roysterers  were  having  a  Christ 
mas-Eve  spree  preparatory  to  a  Christmas-morning 
headache.  Charley  could  not  imagine  why  the  ghost 
had  brought  him  here,  to  be  smothered  with  the  smell 
of  this  villainous  tobacco,  for  to  nothing  was  Charley 
more  sensitive  than  to  the  smell  of  a  poor  cigar  or  a 
cheap  pipe.  He  thought  if  he  should  have  to  stay 
here  long  he  would  like  to  distribute  a  box  of  his  best 
brand  among  these  smokers,  so  as  to  give  the  room 
the  odor  of  the  Hasheesh  Club.  At  first  it  seemed  a 
Babel  of  voices ;  there  were  men  of  several  different 
nationalities  talking  in  three  or  four  languages.  Six 


j  ,L>  DUFFEL& 

mm  were  standing  at  the  long  counter  drinking — one 
(irrnian,  two  Irishmen,  a  Portuguese  sailor,  a  white 
American,  and  a  black  urn*.  The  fpirit  of  Vail  seemed 
to  be  looking  for  somebody;  it  peered  round  from 
table  to  table,  where  men  slammed  down  the  cards  so 
as  to  make  as  much  noise  as  possible.  Nobody  paid 
the  least  attention  to  the  two  strangers,  and  at  last  it 
flashed  upon  Vanderhuyn  that  he  and  Vail  were  both 
invisible  to  the  throng  around  them. 

The  Presence  stopped  in  front  of  a  table  where 
two  young  men  sat.  They  were  playing  euchre,  and 
they  were  drinking.  It  is  an  old  adage  that  truth  is 
told  in  wine,  and  with  some  men  sense  comes  with 
whisky. 

"  I  say,  Joe,"  said  one,  "  blamed  ef  it  'taint  too 
bad ;  you  and  me  spendin'  our  time  this  way !  The 
ole  woman's  mos'  broke  'r  heart  over  me  t'day.  Sh' 
said  I  ought  be  the  s'port  'f  her  ole  dage,  'stid  'f 
boozin'  roun'  thish  yer  way.  'S  so !  Tell  you,  Joe, 
'sso!  Blam'd 'f 'taint.  Heyl  Wat  y'  say  ?  Hey?" 

"  Of  course  'tis,  Ben,"  growled  the  other ;  "  we  all 
know  that.  But  what's  a  feller  goin'  to  do  for  com 
pany  ?  Go  on ;  it's  your  deal." 

M  \Vlm  kyei-rs  fer  th'  deal  ?  I  d— on't.  Now,  Joe, 
I  says,  t — to  th'  ole  lady,  y'  see,  I  says,  a  young  man 
can't  live  up  a  dingy  stairs  on  th'  top  floor  al'ays, 
and  never  git  no  comp'ny.  Can't  do  it.  I  don't 
want  t'  'rink  much,  but  I  c — ome  here  to  git  comp'- 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  253 

ny.  Comp'ny  drinks,  and  I  git  drunk  'f — fore  I  know 
'fore  you — pshaw  !  deal  yerself  'f  you  want  t'  play." 

After  a  while  he  put  the  cards  down  again,  and 
began : 

"  What  think  I  done  wunst  ?  He,  he !  Went  to 
th'  Young  Men's  Chrissen  Soshiashen.  Ole  lady,  you 
know,  coaxed.  He  !  he  !  You  bet !  Prayer  meetin', 
Bible  class,  or  somethin'.  All  slick  young  fellers  'th 
side  whiskers.  Talked  pious,  an'  so  genteel,  you 
know.  I  went  there  fer  comp'ny !  Didn'  go  no  more. 
Druther  git  drunk  at  the  i  free-and-easy '  ever'  night, 
by  George,  'n  to  be  a  slick  kind  'f  feller  'th  side 
whiskers  a  lis'nin'  t'  myself  make  purty  speeches  'n  a 
prayer  Bible  class  meetin'  or  such,  you  know.  Hey  ? 
w'at  ye  say  ?  Hey  ?  'S  comp'ny  a  feller  wants,  and 
's  comp'ny  a  feller's  got  t'  have,  by  cracky!  Hey? 
W'at  ye  say  ?  Hey,  Joe  ? " 

"  Blam'd  'f  'tain't,"  said  Joe. 

"  That's  w'at  them  rich  fellers  goes  to  the  club 
fer  ?  Hey  ?  w'at  ye  say,  Joe  ?  Hey  ? 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Wish  I  had  a  club  !  Better'n  this  place  to  go  to. 
Vail,  he  used  to  do  a  fellow  good.  If  he'd  'a'  lived 
he'd  'a'  pulled  me  out  this  yer,  would,  you,  know.  He 
got 's  eyes  onto  me,  and  they  say  when  he  got  's  eyes 
onto  feller  never  let  go,  you  know.  Done  me  good. 
Made  me  'shamed.  Does  feller  good  t'  be  'shamed, 
Joe.  Don't  it  ?  Hey  ?  W'at  you  say  ?  " 


254  DUFFELS. 

"  Yes,"  said  Joe.  " 

"  But  w'en  a  feller's  lonesome,  a  young  feller,  I 
mean,  he's  got  to  have  company  if  he  has  to  go  down 
to  Davy  Jones's,  and  play  seven-up  with  Ole  Kick. 
Hey,  Joe  ?  Wat  you  say  ?  Hey  ? " 

"  I  s'pose  so,"  said  Joe  ;  "  but  come,  deal,  old  fel 
low  ;  don't  go  to  preachin'." 

I  have  heard  Charley  say  that  he  never  heard 
anything  half  so  distinctly  in  his  life  as  he  felt  what 
the  apparition  said  to  him  when  their  eyes  met  at  that 
moment. 

"  God  and  Huckleberry  Street  want  you,  Charley." 

Charley  looked  away  restively,  and  then  caught 
the  eyes  of  the  ghost  again,  and  this  time  the  ghost 
said: 

"  And  they're  going  to  have  you,  too." 

I  have  heard  Charley  tell  of  several  other  visits 
they  made  that  night ;  but,  as  I  said  before,  even  a 
Christmas  yarn  and  a  ghost  story  must  not  spin  itself 
out,  like  Banquo's  line,  to  the  crack  of  doom.  How 
ever  true  or  authentic  a  story  may  be — and  you  can 
easily  verify  this  by  asking  any  member  of  the  Christ 
inas  Club  in  Huckleberry  Street — however  true  a  yarn 
may  be,  it  must  not  be  so  long  that  it  can  never 
be  wound  up. 

The  very  last  of  the  wretched  places  they  looked 
in  upon  was  a  bare  room  in  a  third  story.  There  was 
a  woman  sitting  on  a  box  in  one  corner,  holding  a 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  255 

sick  child.  A  man  with  golden  hair  was  pacing  the 
floor. 

"  There's  that  devil  again  !  "  he  said,  pointing  to 
the  blank  wall.  "  Now  he's  gone.  You  see,  Carrie,  I 
could  quit  if  I  had  anybody  to  help  me.  Oh  !  I  heard 
to  night  that  Charley  Vanderhuyn  had  been  elected 
president  of  the  Hasheesh.  And  I  saw  him  an  hour 
ago  on  a  Second  Avenue  car.  I  wish  Charley  would 
come  and  talk  to  me.  He'd  give  me  money,  but 
'tain't  money.  I  could  make  money  if  I  could  let 
whisky  alone.  I  used  to  love  to  hear  Charley  talk 
better  than  to  live.  I  believe  it  was  the  ruin  of  me. 
But  he  don't  seem  to  care  for  a  fellow  when  his 
clothes  get  shabby.  See  there !  "  and  he  picked  up  a 
piece  of  wood  and  threw  it  at  the  wall,  startling  his 
wife  and  making  the  child  cry.  "  I  hit  him  that  time  ! 
I  wish  I  could  hear  Charley  Vanderhuyn  talk  once 
more.  His  talk  is  enough  to  drive  devils  away  any 
time.  Great  God,  what  an  awful  Christmas  this  is !  " 

Charley  wanted  to  begin  to  talk  on  the  spot, 
but  when  he  found  that  poor  "  Baron  Bertram " 
could  neither  see  him  nor  hear  a  word  he  spoke,  he 
had  a  fearful  sense  of  being  a  disembodied  spirit. 
The  ghost  looked  wistfully  at  him,  and  said,  "  God 
and  Huckleberry  Street  want  you,  Charley." 

Charley  was  very  loath  to  leave  Perdue  and  his 
wife  in  this  condition  ;  he  would  have  loved  dearly  to 
while  away  the  dreary  night  for  them,  but  he  could 


256  DUFFELS. 

not  speak  to  them,  and  the  eyes  of  the  ghost  bade 
him  follow,  and  the  two  went  swiftly  back  to 
Charley's  rooms  again. 

Then  the  apparition  sat  down  by  the  table  and 
fastened  its  sad  and  wistful  eyes  upon  the  soul  of 
Charley  Vanderhuyn.  Not  a  word  did  it  speak. 
But  the  look,  the  old  tender,  earnest  look  of  Henry 
Vail,  drew  Charley's  heart  into  his  eyes  and  made 
him  weep.  There  Vail  sat,  still  and  wistful,  until 
Charley,  roused  by  all  that  he  had  seen,  resolved  to  do 
what  he  could  for  Huckleberry  Street.  He  made  no 
communication  of  his  purpose  to  the  ghost.  He  meant 
to  keep  it  close  in  his  own  breast.  But  no  sooner  had 
he  formed  the  purpose  than  a  smile — the  old  familiar 
smile — came  across  the  face  of  Vail,  the  hideous  scars 
of  his  loathsome  disease  disappeared,  and  the  face  be 
gan  to  shine,  while  a  faint  aureole  appeared  about 
his  head.  And  Vanderhuyn  became  conscious  that 
the  room  was  full  of  other  mysterious  beings.  And 
to  his  regret  Vail  ceased  now  to  regard  his  friend  any 
more,  but  looked  about  him  at  the  Huckleberry  Street 
angels,  who  seemed  to  be  pulling  him  away.  He 
and  they  vanished  slowly,  and  on  the  wall  there  shone 
some  faint  luminous  letters,  which  Vanderhuyn  tried 
to  read,  but  the  light  of  the  Christmas  dawn  dis 
turbed  his  vision,  and  he  was  able  to  see  only  the  lat 
ter  part,  and  even  that  was  not  clear  to  his  eyes,  but 
he  partly  read  and  partly  remembered  the  words, 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  257 

"  When  ye  fail  on  earth  they  may  receive  you  into 
everlasting  habitations." 

He  rang  for  his  servant,  had  the  fire  replenished, 
opened  his  desk  and  began  to  write  letters.  First  he 
resigned  the  presidency  of  the  Hasheesh  Club.  Next 
he  begged  that  Mrs.  Rear- Admiral  Albatross  would 
excuse  him  from  her  Christmas  dinner.  Unforeseen 
circumstances,  and  the  death  of  an  intimate  friend, 
were  his  apologies.  Then  he  sent  his  regrets,  and 
declined  all  the  invitations  to  holiday  parties.  He 
canceled  his  engagements  to  make  New- Year's  calls  * 
in  company  with  Bird,  the  painter.  Then  he  had 
breakfast,  ordered  his  carriage,  and  drove  to  Huckle 
berry  Street.  On  the  way  down  he  debated  wThat  he 
should  do.  He  couldn't  follow  in  Vail's  footsteps. 
He  was  not  a  missionary.  He  went  first  and  found 
Perdue,  who  had  been  fighting  off  a  threatened  attack 
of  tremens  all  night,  relieved  the  necessities  of  his 
family,  and  took  the  golden-haired  fellow  into  his 
carriage.  He  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  the 
whole  length  of  Huckleberry  Street  slowly. 

"  Perdue,  what  can  I  do  down  here  ?  Yail  always 
said  that  I  could  do  something,  if  I  would  try. " 

1  Why,  Charley,  start  a  club.  That's  what  these  fel 
lows  need.  How  I  should  like  to  hear  you  talk  again! " 

*  The  New- Year's  call  is  one  of  several  things  alluded  to  in 
the  text  that  were  in  vogue  when  the  story  was  written,  but  seem 
anachronisms  in  1893. 


258  DUFFELS. 

IV. 

How  provoking  this  is !  I  thought  I  should  get 
through  with  three  parts.  But  Christmas  is  a  time 
when  a  man  can  not  avoid  a  tendency  to  long  stories. 
One  can  not  quite  control  one's  self  in  a  time  of  mirth, 
and  here  my  history  has  grown  until  I  shall  have  to 
put  on  a  mansard  roof  to  accommodate  it.  For  in  all 
these  three  parts  I  have  told  you  about  everything 
but  what  my  title  promised.  If  you  have  ever  gone 
through  Huckleberry  Street — of  course  you  never 
have  gone  through  such  a  street  except  by  accident, 
since  you  are  neither  poor,  vicious,  nor  benevolent, 
and  only  the  poor,  the  vicious,  and  the  benevolent 
ever  go  there  intentionally — but  if  you  have  ever  hap 
pened  to  go  there  of  late  years,  you  have  seen  the 
Christmas  Club  building.  For  on  that  very  morning, 
with  poor  "  Baron  Bertram  "  in  the  carriage,  Charley 
resolved  to  found  a  club  in  Huckleberry  Street. 
And  what  house  so  good  as  the  one  in  which  Henry 
Vail  had  lived  ? 

So  he  drove  up  to  the  house  on  the  corner  of 
Greenfield  Court  and  began  to  examine  it.  It  was 
an  old-fashioned  house ;  and  in  its  time,  when  the  old 
families  inhabited  the  downtown  streets,  it  had  bivn 
an  aristocratic  mansion.  The  lower  floor  was  oc 
cupied  by  a  butcher's  shop,  and  in  the  front  room, 
where  an  old  family  had  once  entertained  its  guests, 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  259 

cheap  roasts  were  being  dispensed  to  the  keepers  of 
low  boarding  houses.  The  antique  fireplace  and  the 
ancient  mantelpiece  were  forced  to  keep  company 
with  meat  blocks  and  butchers'  cleavers.  Above  this 
were  Henry  Tail's  rooms,  where  the  old  chambers 
had  been  carefully  restored ;  and  above  these  the 
third  story  and  attic  were  crowded  with  tenants. 
But  everywhere  the  house  had  traces  of  its  former 
gentility. 

"  Good  !  "  said  Charley ;  "  Vail  preserved  his  taste 
for  the  antique  to  the  last." 

"  Perdue,  what  do  you  think  of  this  for  a  club 
house?" 

"  Just  the  thing  if  you  can  get  it.  Ten  chances  to 
one  it  belongs  to  some  saloonkeeper  who  wouldn't 
rent  it  for  purposes  of  civilization." 

"  Oh,  I'll  get  it !  Such  men  are  always  suscep 
tible  to  the  influence  of  money,  and  I'm  sure  this  is 
the  spot,  or  Vail  wouldn't  have  chosen  it." 

And  with  that  Charley  and  the  delighted  Perdue 
drove  to  the  house  of  Charley's  business  agent,  the 
same  who  had  been  his  father's  manager. 

"  Mr.  Johnston,"  said  Charley,  "  I  don't  like  to  ask 
you  to  work  on  Christmas,  but  I  want  you  to  find  out 
to-day,  if  you  can,  who  owns  No.  164  Huckleberry 
Street." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  house  Mr.  Vail  lived  in  ? " 

"  Yes,  that's  it.    Look  it  up  for  me,  if  you  can." 


260  DUFFELS. 

"  Oh,  that's  not  hard.  The  house  belongs  to 
you." 

"  To  me !     I  didn't  know  I  had  anything  there." 

"  Yes,  that  house  was  your  grandfather's,  and  your 
mother  lived  there  in  her  childhood,  and  your  father 
wouldn't  sell  it.  It  brought  good  rent,  and  I  have 
never  bothered  you  about  it." 

"  And  you  let  Harry  pay  me  rent  ? " 

"  Well,  sir,  he  asked  me  not  to  mention  to  you 
that  he  was  in  your  house.  He  liked  to  pay  his  own 
way.  Strange  man,  that  Mr.  Yail !  I  heard  from  an 
other  tenant  last  night  that  he  is  dead." 

"  Perdue,"  said  Charley,  ik  I  wish  you  would  go 
down  there  to-day  and  find  out  what  each  tenant  in 
that  house  well  sell  his  lease  for  and  give  possession 
immediately.  Give  them  a  note  to  Johnston  stating 
the  amount,  and  I  want  Johnston  to  give  them  some 
thing  over  the  amount  agreed  on.  I  must  be  on  good 
terms  with  Huckleberry  Street." 

Johnston  wondered  what  whim  Charley  had  in  his 
head.  "  Baron  Bertram  "  completed  his  negotiations 
for  the  leases  of  the  tenants,  and  then  went  off  and 
drank  Charley's  health  in  so  many  saloons  that  hr 
went  home  entirely  drunk,  and  the  next  morning  was 
ashamed  to  see  Vanderhuyn.  But  Charley  never 
even  looked  a  disapproval  at  him.  He  had  learned 
from  Vail  how  easy  it  is  for  reformers  to  throw  their 
influence  on  the  wrong  side  in  such  a  life-and-death 


THE  CHRISTMAS  CLUB.  261 

struggle  as  that  of  Perdue's.  In  the  year  that  fol 
lowed  he  had  to  forgive  him  many  more  than  seven 
times.  But  Perdue  grew  stronger  in  the  sunlight  of 
Yanderhuyn's  steady  friendship. 

They  had  a  great  time  opening  the  club  on  New- 
Year's  Eve.  There  was  a  banquet,  not  quite  in 
Delmonico's  style,  nor  quite  so  fine  as  those  at  the 
Hasheesh ;  but  still  it  was  a  grand  affair  to  the 
dilapidated  wrecks  that  Charley  gathered  about  him. 
Charley  was  president,  and  Yail's  portrait  hung  over 
the  mantelpiece,  with  this  inscription  beneath,  "  The 
Founder  of  the  Club."  Most  of  Charley's  fine  paint 
ings  were  here,  and  the  rooms  were  indeed  brilliant. 
And  if  lemonade  and  root  beer  and  good  strong  cof 
fee  could  have  made  people  drunk,  there  would  not 
have  been  one  sober  man  there.  But  Ben  delighted 
"  the  old  lady  "  by  going  home  sober,  owning  it  was 
better  than  the  free-and-easy,  and  his  friends  all  agreed 
with  him.  To  Charley,  as  he  looked  round  on  them, 
this  was  a  far  grander  moment  than  when,  one  week 
before,  he  had  presided  over  the  gay  company  at  the 
Hasheesh.  Here  were  good  cheer,  laughter,  funny 
stories,  and  a  New- Year's  Eve  worth  the  having. 
The  gray  eyes  of  the  portrait  over  the  antique  mantel 
piece  seemed  happy  and  satisfied. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Charley,  "  I  rise  to  propose 
the  memory  of  our  founder,"  and  he  proceeded  to  set 
forth  the  virtues  of  Henry  Yail.  If  there  had  been 


DUFFELS. 

a  reporter  present  he  could  have  inserted  in  paren 
thesis,  at  several  places  in  Charley's  speech,  the  words, 
"  great  applause "  ;  and  if  he  had  reported  its  effect 
exactly,  he  would,  at  several  other  places,  have  insert 
ed  the  words  "  great  sensation,"  which,  in  reporter's 
phrase,  expresses  any  great  emotion,  especially  one 
which  makes  an  audience  weep.  In  conclusion, 
Charley  lifted  his  glass  of  lemonade,  and  said,  "  To 
the  memory  of  Henry  Vail,  the  Founder  of  the 
Christmas  Club." 

"  Christmas ! "  said  Baron  Bertram,  "  a  good  name ! 
For  this  man,"  pointing  to  Charley,  "receiveth  sinners 
and  eateth  with  them  "  (applause). 

I  have  done.  Dear  friends,  a  Merry  Christmas  to 
you  all ! 


THE    EKD. 


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HOUSEHOLD  HIS 
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trated  with  350  Drawings,  75  Maps, 
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PHILADELPHIA,    1707. 

FROM  THE  PREFACE. 

The  present  work  is  meant,  in  the  first  instance,  for  the  young— not  alone 
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widening  influence  on  general  culture. 

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"  The  book  in  its  new  dress  makes  a  much 
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before,  and  will  be  wel 
comed  by  older  readers 

as  gladly  as  its  predeces-  IND;AN'S   TRAP. 

sor  was  greeted  by  girls 

and  boys.  The  lavish  use  the  publishers  have  made  of  colored 
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••  :* 


GENERAL     PUTNAM. 


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